Graduation Celebration Confrontation
by scousemuz1k
Summary: Tony escorts Josh Cooper's mother at his graduation. Tim escorts a lovely IT teacher. Of course, nothing goes to plan. Team fic, whumps for Tony, romance for Tim. Difficult to give a summary!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Apologies to any Hotel actually called the 'Prince of Denmark'…. This one's about to get a bit smashed up. Oh, and I'm starting the story in the middle. And btw, it helps if you've seen 'Sandblast' to know who Josh is, there are two OCs from another of my things, but you don't need to have read it to get who they are.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

by scousemuz1k

Prologue: Starting in the Middle. (Can a prologue _do_ that?)

The cordon that had been thrown round the five star Prince of Denmark Hotel had proved to be effective, but it had no answer to a former Marine who flashed a badge, snarled, and walked through it. At his side, a small woman who managed to look exotic and formidable at the same time, treated it as if it wasn't there.

Gibbs' bark wasn't particularly loud, but it got attention. "Who's in charge here?"

A tall grey haired veteran turned to face him. "I'm Lieutenant Barraclough. Who the hell are you?"

"Gibbs. NCIS. They told me you're sending a SWAT team in; we're going with them."

"On whose say-so?"

"Didn't they tell you we were coming? There are naval personnel and marine dependants in there – to say –"

"_Two _of you?" the cop said derisively. "Anyway, you're too late, they've already begun." As if to prove it, there came the noise of stun grenades, and windows blowing out. Gibbs and Ziva set off at a run.

The SWAT team had entered stealthily, looking out for guards on point in areas outside the ballroom, where they'd been told the hostages were, but there didn't seem to be any activity. Outside the closed double doors they listened, but heard nothing. The leader signalled, the doors were smashed open, one left hanging off its hinges, and two stunners were thrown in. As the uncomfortable wave of percussion swept across the room, there were a few cries of pain and discomfort heard above the sound of breaking glass, but no gunfire. The team doubled into the room, some sweeping their gun-barrels high, some low, but apart from people in evening dress, lying in a huddle, there was no movement in the elegant room.

The trained men ran through the room, knocking chairs and tables out of their path, and tearing down curtains to alcoves since it was quicker and more effective than drawing them back. They aimed guns at the long table where the remains of the buffet were laid, and upturned it to see if anyone hid beneath it. No-one. A movement caught the leader's eye. "There!"

A man in evening wear was coming very slowly down the short corridor from the cloak rooms; he carried a hand gun, holding it in two hands as if he knew how to use it. Three police officers were on him in a flash, tackling him to the ground; one wrenched the gun from his hand. As he tried to lift his head, the same officer pushed his face into the carpet. His hands were wrenched behind him and cuffed, the team leader put his knee in between the man's shoulder blades, and pulled his head up by the hair. "Where are your friends?"

The man's voice was hardly audible, but the derision in it was clear.

"My _friends?_" He choked out a laugh, and tried to draw a breath to say something else.

"I won't ask you again," the SWAT man said, poking the man's temple hard with the muzzle of his gun.

A woman in a sapphire blue ball-gown had staggered to her feet, and was trying to speak, but one of the cops led her away. "You come and sit down, ma'am, we'll deal with him… you're safe now…" He righted a chair and sat her down, and went back to his team without hearing her.

"Check the cloak rooms," the leader barked, then turned his attention to the prisoner again.

"They're not _in_ the cloak rooms… you think they're hiding in the toilets?" the man ground out into the carpet. One of the team called him something physically impossible, and jerked his cuffed wrists. The prisoner yelped in pain, and the cop was about to snag the cuffs even harder, when an enraged voice bellowed at him, and he was roughly pushed aside.

"Get the hell away from my agent, you damn fools," Jethro Gibbs roared. "Move. Now!"

He paid the cops no further attention, leaving Ziva to flash her badge and deal with them, as he produced his own key, released the cuffed wrists, and turned the man onto his back. Tony DiNozzo moaned softly, and looked up at his boss, green eyes trying to focus. His shirt was bloodsoaked. Ziva came to kneel beside him, bringing some tablecloths, and the lady in sapphire blue came with her. DiNozzo reached one shaky hand up to grab Gibbs' jacket.

"Boss… Tim, and Marianne… they took them… and Josh and Anne-Marie…"

"Are they ok?" Gibbs asked, pressing the table linen down on Tony's shoulder, aware that Gillian, Josh Cooper's mother, didn't want to ask, but was desperate to know.

"Yeah… McGee was keeping them all calm… reckon they shot me… just to make sure he'd co-operate… but he was doin' good last I saw… he'll look after them… McGee's OK… sorry, Gill… but hey, don't you worry… McGee'll keep Josh safe…" he closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh.

**More AN: I know SWAT teams aren't really so ham fisted… and sorry it's the shortest opening I ever wrote, just wanted to get the habitual whump in quick!**


	2. Chapter 2

I neither own nor profit from writing about NCIS. All rights belong where they always have done.

**AN: I try to avoid actual spoilers, but there is slight mention of Tony's father, so, Flesh and Blood. I do tend to assume that everyone reading has seen everything up to, say, at least the end of season five, so I don't give big, storyline interrupting explanations, although Gibbs says never assume.**

**Blarney, I saw your alert, there seems to be no way of messaging you, but I never forgot that you'd like to see something more of Josh, and graduation.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 2

Familiar sounds, familiar smells, familiar sensations… too familiar. He took stock.

Sounds and smells: oh, great – hospital. Well, what did he expect?

Eyes: too heavy to open.

Head: too heavy to move.

Thoughts: too slow to tangle up.

Shoulder: too painful to ignore.

Chest: 'bout the same.

Gut: just a bit queasy… fine if he kept still. No problem, he couldn't damn well move…

Left hand: morphine pump. He'd hold off awhile…

Right hand: empty.

Well, now… that had to be good, didn't it? Abby was back in DC, tracing cell phones… and looking at satellite images… and Ducky, well, he was on the way, or he was with Gibbs… no… either way, that wasn't good.

If Ducky was still on the way, then not much time had gone by since his tangle with the heavy mob… not much time for Gibbs to find McGee… or Marianne… Hell, it had been _fun _watching Tim falling for his lovely Doctor Weiss. But now… Josh too, and AnneMarie… his good kids… he moaned faintly in his throat, but nobody responded.

If Ducky had arrived, and he wasn't _here_, he was with Gibbs… because Gibbs thought he'd be needed more _there… _and of course, if Gibbs had _found_ McGee, he wouldn't be there, he'd be here, and he wasn't… so either way, not good… not good… He felt his breathing quicken painfully with anxiety, and concentrated all his effort on calming it… if a nurse noticed she'd come and click the morphine pump, and he needed to think.

"It's OK, Boss… I know that whatever you're doing right now, part of you wants to be here… you know what a wimp I am… but you don't need to be here holding my hand. I don't mind waking up alone any more… I know none of you are far away… Just find them, OK? You and Zi? Bring them back safely… I never imagined when it all began that _this_ would happen… it was supposed to be so good…"

---------------

"I gotta congratulate you on your tenacity, McLimpet…"

"Mc_Limpet_?"

"Well, I thought it was clever. I mean, who'd have thought you'd get your Porsche back? Like I said, tenacious. I mean, it's the same car, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

"So tell me about it."

"You're really interested?"

Tony was puzzled. "Yeah. Course I am. I know you had to sell it, when that investment went wrong… that must have hurt, right?"

"Right. I actually wished I'd been a bit more sympathetic over your Corvette…"

Tony chuckled, but sardonically. "Hey, don't… the Mustang ka-boom upset me more."

"Yeah… well, we didn't like it much either, we thought you were in it…"

"Don't remind me. The Porsche?"

"Well," Tim said, "I really got attached to this car. I made other investments that recouped a bit of what I lost, and royalties still keep coming in from the books… first thing I did was to track it down in Maine and offer to buy it back."

"And the owner was OK with that? Did he know it had been owned by Thom E. Gemcity?"

"Oh, no." McGee hesitated.

"But?" Tony was onto the tiny hiatus like a Jack Russell.

"Er… I might have hinted that it had been owned by an errant husband… and the wife had a tendency to damage anything of his she saw…"

Tony whooped with laughter. "Tim McDevious… that's the sort of thing I'd do…"

"Well, I've got to have learned something from you in nearly seven years, Tony."

Tony clutched his hand to his heart. "Oh, I'm wounded, McGee. Hey, we're coming onto the freeway. Open her up, let's hear that German growl."

The Boxster snarled enthusiastically, and for a while neither man spoke as they enjoyed the speed and power of the car. Tony wondered if he ought to start talking again soon though, before Tim's thoughts returned to the agitated state he'd taken such care distracting him from. Too late. McGee sighed.

Again, Tony opted for no name mutilation.

"McGee," he said patiently, and wasn't aware that Tim could actually hear the concern in his voice, "Why are you so anxious about this? You can do it… you know you can. And remember what you were like when you got the invitation? I was thinking of tying a string to your leg so I wouldn't have to keep reaching up and grabbing your ankle to pull you down off the ceiling. I mean, here we are thinking we're agents, however special –" (he raised his eyes to heaven virtuously, which Tim saw even though he was watching the road, and smiled at briefly,) "- of a small, un-noticed and undervalued agency, and one of our agents is plucked from obscurity to give a lecture at _Princeton_ no less, on –" important cough – "'Aspects of Use of Information Technology in Detection.'"

Tim huffed. "They made the title boring," he said, having either forgotten Tony's original question, or trying to deflect it.

"But it sounds intelligent," his passenger replied. "It's a bit boys own comic to call it 'Computer Crimefighters',"

"Yeah," McGee said, "I like the sound of that. Just surprised you didn't put Geeks in there somewhere." Yay, deflection complete.

"I resisted the temptation," Tony said nobly. "Now tell me what's so _bad_ about being the one who's _good_ enough to be asked to do it?"

Wrong again… and anyway, wouldn't it be better to just admit it? "I'm actually nervous," Tim said finally. "I'm stepping out of my comfort zone. I know you'll say we do that every time we grab our gear… but this is different." Tony waited. "I've never done this before."

"You never made a presentation at MIT?"

"Sure, but we all did. We knew each other, we didn't give each other a hard time."

"OK," Tony said slowly… "Yes, you don't know any of these people, but it's a forum, right? They'll all be giving a lecture? Which puts you all riding the same bus."

Tim was determined not to be comforted. "They're more experienced. Most of them give talks and lectures every day."

"Right, grant you that one…" he thought quickly. "You know your stuff, right?" It wasn't really a question.

Tim nodded. "Right."

"And if I know you, you'll have prepared it meticulously…"

"I wouldn't dare not have."

"Dare… well, aren't you the guy who, while still a very junior type probie, dared to stand in MTAC and tell the Assistant Secretary of the Navy lady, no less, to 'stick it'? Got a round of applause from the techs? I wish I'd seen it…"

Tim actually smiled. "Er… yes," he said shyly, "I enjoyed that."

"So think 'stick it', then." Tony paused. "There's nothing I can do to stop you from feeling nervous, McGee, but if you didn't think you could do it, you'd never have agreed to it. Right?"

"Right."

Tony seemed to be struck by an idea, although Tim wondered if it was entirely unplanned. "Hey - d'you think I'd be able to sneak in at the back?"

"You'd do that?"

"Well, yeah. Unless you don't want me to. Look, I wouldn't be the naughty kid playing up on the back row…"

McGee shook his head. "Hey, didn't think you would!" he protested.

"You don't think I could get into your Mcaudience?"

"I've no idea. You'll find a way if anyone can. I… er… no, I'm pleased that you'd bother. But I thought you were going to look up Josh, and Anne-Marie?"

"Yeah, I am. I mean, it seemed like a good idea to bum a lift if you were coming to Princeton anyway, but I wondered if you'd appreciate a bit of back up. Cuz if it was me, I'm telling you, I wouldn't be nervous."

"You _wouldn't_?"

"No… I'd have a laundry problem."

Now it was Tim's turn to let out a whoop of laughter. "Maybe I should have packed extra pants."

They drove on in silence for a while, with Tim silently mulling over the SFA's words. No, not just the words… the actions. He hadn't thought about it before; his initial reaction when Tony had suggested coming along for the ride was to think 'oh, no, several hours trapped in a car with DiNozzo'. But he wondered what several hours driving alone towards something so alarming would have felt like.

He had a feeling that Tony wouldn't have admitted the back up bit if he'd been able to avoid it; he seemed to dislike anyone having a sense of obligation towards him almost as much as he hated being indebted himself. And hey, the time _was_ certainly passing a lot more quickly.

There were times when the Italian drove him demented, and times like this when he realised he had a friend.

After a while, Tony said, "I can hear the cogs grinding. Are you rehearsing your speech?"

Tim grinned and shook his head. "Oh, no. Believe me, Abby's put me through my paces on that _very _thoroughly. They ought to ask _her_ to do a forensics lecture… no, I was thinking about the team, really."

"The team?"

"Yeah. Did Gibbs know you were coming along for 'back up'?"

"We didn't talk about it… but you know, nothing gets past the Boss." A faraway expression came over Tony's face, that stayed long enough for Tim to register it.

"What does that look mean?"

"I was thinking about the team too. Especially since my father showed up. I think Gibbs said something to him… he seems to be trying a bit harder… but to be honest, it's leaving me a bit cold. The team's my family… I kind of don't want it any other way."

"Yeah, I believe I can understand that. Nothing stays the same for ever, though. Not even families."

"Mmm. You'd think I'd had enough warnings by now. Kate…" His voice trailed off sadly.

"Mexico…"

"Agent afloat… leaving Ziva behind…"

"Getting her back. And you," Tim said positively.

Tony thought for a moment. "I used to imagine," he said finally, "that the natural way of things was Gibbs training me up to be his successor… he'd retire, I'd take over the MCRT, cuz if I'm truthful, it's the only team I'd really _want to run, _but he wouldn't be able to keep away, so he'd take on a consultancy role, and still be around. You'd be my SFA, until you took on your own team, but you'd still be around, and Kate and I would build another team… It morphed a bit and we carried on with Ziva… but I was naïve… it was a sort of ideal future… I don't have a clue any more. I try not to look ahead."

Tim felt mildly alarmed. "Aw, come on, Tony. How did we suddenly get here? No-one can see the future. We do the best we can with the information we've got. I thought you were cheering me up."

Tony shook himself, and smiled. "You're right. Maybe I'm feeling my age! I try to define my relationship with Josh, and I'd like to think big brother, but realistically… oh, dearie me… it's more like uncle."

Tim snorted, and shook his head. He found a quiet spot, pulled over, and got out of the car.

"McGee?"

He walked round to Tony's door and opened it. "Move over."

"What?"

"I thought _you_ were supposed to be keeping _me _away from the miseries. Go on. _Drive._"

**AN: Greater love hath no man, than to let him drive his car….**

**Review? Please?**


	3. Chapter 3

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 3

He remembered the look Tim had given him, as he lay there, feeling deathly, playing dead, gun out of reach. It was absolutely resolute; he'd do the same as Tony did; he'd die for the others if he had to… He'd seen the younger man move to distract the gunmen as they turned back, just giving him time to close his eyes and act dead again. When he risked opening them a crack, all he could see was the back of the last captor disappearing down the corridor. Tim and the others were gone.

McGee… don't be rash… don't throw your life away… And Josh… if that bastard with the leer wasn't reined in by his leader; if he touched Anne-Marie, what would Josh do?

He felt a trickle of sweat run off his temple, along his jaw and down his neck; after that he lost track of it. He felt hot and cold by degrees; he forced his eyes open and slowly, oh so slowly because it hurt so much, he looked left and right. He was still alone… he wished_ someone,_ anyone, would come by just to tell him if… there couldn't be anything to tell or someone would come, surely. Wouldn't they?

He focussed his eyes, looking for the hated call button. Once he used it, he knew, what little semblance of control he had over the situation would be gone. It lay on the night stand, about twelve inches away from his left hand, beyond his reach unless he could sit up. He tried… the slightest tensing of his muscles, and felt like Luke Skywalker being fried by the Emperor in 'Return of the Jedi'. By now his eyes were screwed tight against the pain, or he was sure he'd have seen blue lightning bolts running all over him. Head, neck, entire upper torso; all blazed and cramped, and he lay back again with a whimper. Not that he'd raised himself much anyway.

Now, whatever he'd thought earlier, he wished Gibbs was there. Or Abby, or Ducky… someone he loved, to tell him everything would be just fine… he gave in, pressed the morphine pump, and waited. After a while the pain mercifully eased, but the unconsciousness he'd cravenly hoped for didn't come.

"You're not ten years old, DiNozzo," he thought savagely, unable to wipe away the tear that squeezed out from under his eyelid. "Get a grip. Think of… the car, yeah, that's good… the car."

His fingers pulled involuntarily at the bedclothes, as he recalled the feel of the steering wheel, in its soft grey leather glove, under his hands.

* * *

Poor, good-hearted McGee. It wasn't that Tony had treated the Porsche roughly, he'd been the epitome of carefulness… but he couldn't bear the look on his team-mate's face, so after twenty miles he'd given up and handed Tim's baby back to him. "You need to make the impression, not me," he'd said by way of an excuse, not wanting his friend to know he was putting him out of his misery. "The visiting lecturer should arrive among the other bigwigs driving his own car."

Tim knew what Tony was up to, but appreciated the tact, so he said nothing.

The organisers of the forum had booked Tim into a decent hotel, and Tony had simply treated himself to a room there. It was time off, and therefore to be enjoyed. They checked in, then drove to the designated parking, near the Department of Computer Science, where the event was to take place. Tony didn't go inside with Tim; it would have been a bit mother-hen, and while Gibbs was perfectly capable of it, even when his chicks didn't think they needed it, they weren't going to emulate him.

"Good luck, McBrainiac… let me know if it's OK for me to sneak in… if not, I'll just sneak in anyway."

Tim looked him straight in the eye. "Officer, I've never seen this man before in my life," he said. Tony laughed unrestrainedly, clapped him on the shoulder, and went off to find Josh.

The young law student was where he'd said he'd be; in one of the common rooms where there was decent food and comfortable seating. He'd been keeping an eye on the doorway, saw his friend immediately, and jumped up to greet him. "Tony! Hey, you're earlier than I thought… Did you come in Tim's Porsche?"

"Well, yeah, that's why I'm early, Josh. He was so keen to get here and enter the lion's den."

"He's really nervous, then?"

"Oh, yeah. But you know him, Josh, he'll be fine."

Josh agreed, and led him to a group of armchairs by the windows, then left him for a moment to people watch, while he went to fetch him something to eat and drink. Tony didn't offer to pay for it, since he didn't want to diminish the young man's pleasure at being host.

They talked about this and that… it was a good time for Tony to visit, since Josh had only one more exam to sit, and that was in five days time. Yes, he was well in hand with his revision. Yes, the other exams had gone well. And yes, he still intended to go into Naval Intelligence.

"Where's Anne-Marie?" Tony's question was delivered with a grin. "I thought you two were joined at the hip?"

Josh almost blushed, but he was used to Tony's teasing. "She'll be here in a minute. She's gone to meet Marianne."

"Marianne?"

"Dr. Marianne Weiss… a friend of her parents. She's a computer expert, she's actually giving a talk at the same forum as Tim – how's that for a coincidence?"

Tony smiled. "I don't know if I believe in coincidences – I've been around Gibbs for too long. But it sometimes seems a very small world."

Josh nodded, then paused. "Have you seen my Mom lately?" It sounded like a leading question, although Tony couldn't for the life of him think why.

"Yeah. Ziva and I went over to see her, couple of evenings ago. We made the excuse that I was coming to see you, in case she wanted to send anything. She didn't, since you'll be going home as soon as the last exam's done, but she did give me this for you…" Tony pulled out an envelope and handed it over. He was pretty certain it was the staple of students everywhere – a letter from Mom, with cash. Josh grinned.

"We do keep an eye on her, Josh, so does Nadia… she's doing pretty well really." Tony put his head on one side and studied the younger man. "Is there any particular reason why you asked?"

Josh smiled sheepishly. "She wants to ask you something… but she's afraid it'd be an imposition. So I said I'd ask you."

Tony thought for a moment; what could Gill want that could possibly impose on him? He'd been there for the Coopers any time they'd needed him since Josh's father was killed, surely Gill knew he'd be there still… Ah. He chuckled inwardly. Well, DiNozzo, nobody can say you're not sharp.

"She hasn't anyone to escort her when you graduate," he said. "So, who would she ask but a handsome, sophisticated –"

Josh threw a crumpled paper napkin at him. "Smartass. She doesn't want to go alone, Tony. It's going to be tough for her." His face had gone sad.

"I understand, Josh. She'll be thinking of your Dad, just like you will… wishing he could see you. Hey-" he went on more cheerfully, "I always wanted to come to your graduation anyway. I'll ring her and offer my services."

Josh tried to raise a matching smile. "There's more."

"There is?"

"There'll be a graduation ball. At the Prince of Denmark Hotel. The same evening. Would you extend your role for that?"

"Sure! When the ladies see you and me in our evening gear… oh, man… we'll have them all queuing up to dance with us, elbowing each other out of the way-" Josh was starting to grin. "Hey… we don't have to wear satin cummerbunds do we? I mean, they went out with the ark, and they make a guy look ten pounds heavier round the gut area…"

Josh was laughing so much he had to put his coffee cup down. "Tony, if you can make Mom laugh like this, she'll do fine." He went a little more serious, to add "I'd be grateful, really. I can't think of anyone better."

Tony allowed himself a slight smile at the compliment, and raised his own cup in a gesture of acknowledgement. Over the rim of it, he saw Anne-Marie entering the long room, with another woman. Whoops, DiNozzo, he thought as he rose politely to his feet, never assume.

When Josh had said that Anne-Marie was meeting a friend of her parents, he'd expected an older person, but the lady was about McGee's age. She had fair hair and skin, and humorous, intelligent blue eyes, that her glasses didn't hide at all, and that gave vibrant life to her pretty face.

The greetings were warm; Josh hugged both women, Tony hugged Anne-Marie, and restrained himself from hugging her friend. "This is Marianne," Anne-Marie said. She's Swiss." He shook her hand, and found his smile returned in a way that told him Marianne was the sort of person who made friends easily.

"I'm semi-American," she corrected. "My parents are Swiss. I was born over here. But I work mostly in Switzerland these days."

"In computers," Tony said. "Josh told me. I came up today with a colleague who's speaking at the forum this evening."

"Yes, Josh told me about him. Computers in crime fighting. Very interesting. I suspect it won't be so dry as I fear some of the talks will be." They sat down again, and as Josh went off for more sustenance, (this time his friend insisted on funding the trip,) Tony was amused to see that the two youngsters had manoeuvred so that Marianne was next to him. Mmmm; they hadn't registered anything between himself and Ziva then… For a moment his heart sank; maybe there simply wasn't anything that people could register. Perhaps it was all in his mind and no-where else.

He smiled at the newcomer. "I guess that means you don't intend to make your talk dry then, Marianne?"

"I hope not. There's plenty of scope for humour in my subject. I'll be speaking on computers and spoken language; the search for a computer that can not only translate what it hears but also cope with nuance and subtlety."

"That can't be imminent, surely?"

"No, Tony. I don't think anyone is considering it commercially as yet… there are so many pitfalls, and some of them are hilarious. It's simply a hobby of mine. There are so many different languages in Switzerland that it's an ideal place to have such a hobby."

"So you won't be speaking about what you actually work at then."

"No, I couldn't. A lot of what I do is classified, believe it or not."

"Why wouldn't I believe it?"

"Well, Anni tells me you're a Federal Agent. There must be far more cloak and dagger, classified stuff in your life than in mine."

Tony laughed. "I guess we've rubbed shoulders with state secrets a few times; most of the time I end up wondering what all the fuss is about." He sighed, as he looked across at Josh and Anne-Marie returning with food, and lowered his voice. "Sometimes we just get the aftermath."

Marianne nodded thoughtfully, and didn't answer. She didn't see, and no doubt the two undergrads thought Tony didn't see the triumphant look between them at seeing the two sat close together, deep in conversation. They thought wrong, of course.

(The sick, anxious man in the hospital bed wondered if he should have dug deeper; would knowing earlier what Marianne did have made any difference? Probably not…)

Tony's cell buzzed; it was Tim. It was fine for Tony to sit in; people could enter and leave at the end of any lecture, they only needed to attend the ones that interested them. Since Tim was taking the trouble to let him know, he didn't tell him he'd already got that information from Josh. "But hey, I'm quite pleased, Tony. The number of people who've signed in for my talk nearly fills the place, so at least I know people want to hear me. What they'll think when –"

"Don't want to hear it, McGenius… you'll be great."

"Yeah. Well, I'm going back to the hotel for a sleep and a last minute read through my notes. That OK?"

"Sure. If I go back I'll walk. Break a leg, man."

Josh dug out the timetable for the lectures. Marianne's was the one before Tim's, (sheer good fortune, since some of the other subjects could have been Serbo-Croat for all Tony understood,) which was how the three friends came to be sitting quietly at the back, enjoying something Tony would never have imagined could be fun.

Marianne made no apologies for beginning her talk with the famous story of the early translation program which was asked to translate 'Out of sight, out of mind' from English to Russian and back, and dutifully presented 'Invisible idiot.' Some of the stories she told after that were not only funny, but so full of double-entendre that it sometimes took a moment of puzzled silence before the audience roared with laughter. Tony couldn't help noticing Tim McGee sitting near the front, crying with laughter, nerves forgotten.

If he'd remembered them when he got up to speak, he certainly wasn't showing it. "My name is Tim McGee," he said solemnly. "Known throughout my agency as McGeek." Tony winced. "I'm here to tell you that computers are law officers too. They fight the same fight, and take the same risks as we do." He clicked the remote that brought up a photograph on the screen. It was a picture of a computer monitor transfixed by a clothing rack; and Tony winced again. He remembered exactly when that poor machine had met its grisly end.

Tim clicked again. The corpse of a computer was spread all over a patch of tarmac. "This one was thrown out of a third floor window," he went on mournfully, and Tony observed that the audience were starting to smile; especially the young Swiss lady on the front row, "And nobly, it gave its life rather than landing on my head." The audience giggled.

Tim clicked a third time. A computer with a soot spattered keyboard and blackened monitor appeared. "This was Bertha," he said sadly, "The beloved friend of our forensic scientist, slain by a maliciously induced power surge. Life is dangerous for a computer in the world of crime fighting." Having hooked his audience, McGee went on to give a serious, funny and memorable lecture. For Tony, who'd been involved in most of the cases he talked about, one thing stood out even more than the new dimension he saw to his friend; (I wish Gibbs could see this, he thought,) and that was the way that Marianne Weiss was looking at him. Wow, McGee…

When they went looking for Tim, there was no sign of Dr. Weiss. Tony was a bit disappointed. "She had to return to the hotel at once for an urgent phone conference," a steward told Josh. "She sends her apologies, and will call you in the morning, to meet you for a while before she returns to Switzerland.

"Well, so much for that, then" Tony thought regretfully, as he and Tim returned to their hotel. McGee was on a high, and Tony didn't grudge him as he talked excitedly. He dragged him into the hotel bar and bought him a double brandy; he wasn't sure if Tim would sleep a wink anyway, but hey.

He sat up, when the younger man said, "Did you hear the talk before mine?"

"Yes, we did. Dr. Weiss."

"I enjoyed her talk." He looked at Tony defiantly, and said, "I liked her, too." He waited for the put-down.

Tony said, "Did you see her watching during your talk?"

"Yeah… actually."

"So did I. I met her this afternoon –" Tim's face fell. "Hey… I was going to say she's a friend of Anne-Marie. I was going to introduce you, but she had to dash off."

"Oh."

"She might contact them in the morning…."

Tim moped. "I couldn't be that lucky."

"Hey! McGlum!"

Things do work out in funny ways… As Tony sat eating breakfast, surmising that McGee must have come down off his high and fallen asleep very late, judging by his non-appearance, a light voice behind him said, "Tony! Good morning!"

He stood up politely. "Marianne! You were brilliant last night." (Well of _course _the forum organisers would have booked all their speakers into one hotel. No marks for not figuring that, DiNozzo.)

"So was your friend Tim." She glanced around. "Is he not here with you?" (There. Disappointment. Loud and clear.)

"I was just about to ring him, to warn him he'll miss breakfast… McGee? You are? Oh, that's good. Dr. Weiss has joined us for breakfast. No, I'm nearly done. Yeah."

He snapped his phone shut. "Tim's on his way down. He'd love to meet you, Marianne."

**AN: I know nothing about computers and languages. Please don't fry me. If you've not come across the skewered computer or Nadia they're in my 'Deck the Hall'. I **_**like**_** to re-use characters. And computers. Please leave me a review???**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Explanation coming up for Diana Teo about the ladies' very similar names. It wasn't an accident, Di, **_**so there**_**! **

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 4

The light was too bright, and glared through his eyelids. And if it didn't, he told himself viciously, he'd still find something to complain about. Lying there, unable to move and not knowing why was doing wonders for his temper. He wondered if he _could _move since he'd used the morphine pump, so he tried again. He managed to lift his head from the pillow, only to have it fall back with an uncontrolled thump that sent coruscating white lights of pain through his temples, and left him seeing a pretty trail of silvery stars on the backs of his eyelids.

His shoulder was hurting…it was a nagging pain that he couldn't explain… he giggled and began to chant it to himself, until he realised that rhyming or not, he still wanted to know what it was…He didn't remember doing it. It was spreading across his right shoulder blade like a fiery spider's web, and he thought it hurt more than the bullet wound, which was high in his chest, or low in his left shoulder, depending on how you wanted to think about it.

He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so terrible, and wondered why he did. Physically, that was… being scared rigid for his friends took care of his emotional well-being. He began to tread the circle of self-reproach that he always seemed to find in such situations. Could he have done better? If he hadn't been shot he could have gone with them… protected them… DiNozzo, you were shot to _stop_ you from going with them…

He coughed slightly. Oh, no… please… don't let my lungs be involved… I'll be on desk duty for weeks… did Gibbs warn them about the plague? DiNozzo, you sent him straight off after McGee… the four of them… It's what you wanted him to do… you can't complain that he did it. But this isn't Bethesda, shit, I don't even know where it _is_… get a grip, you wimp…

He wondered if a nurse had looked round the door and assumed he was having a lovely sleep. Or, it could be that only minutes had elapsed since he regained consciousness, and it simply _felt_ like hours. Stop whining, DiNozzo. You can't help them, you're stuck here; you have to trust Gibbs. And Ziva… if she were here, would she hold your hand…? Don't go there… he screwed his face up against the bright light again, and remembered the golden sunlight of a morning in late Spring.

* * *

Tim had entered the hotel dining room looking slightly mussed and very boyish. Tony introduced him to Marianne without the slightest inflection in his voice, or twitch of face muscles to suggest he had a hidden agenda. They talked first, naturally enough, of the previous evening, and Tony said he hadn't expected to laugh so much.

"I'm glad you didn't warn me in advance about that opening… not knowing what was coming made the joke funnier."

Marianne agreed. "Have you ever lectured before, Tim? You seemed very relaxed about it, and you certainly have a style. I try to teach my students to relax when they're facing an audience, but some can do it and some can't." She saw Tony's puzzled look, and added, "You're remembering what I said yesterday. Not all of what I do is classified, Tony. I spend part of my time teaching at Cornell. About two weeks in every eight. Getting young computer whizzes to think outside the box about the future of information technology." It didn't escape the SFA's notice that his younger colleague perked up at the mention of two weeks in eight at Cornell.

Tim nodded enthusiastically. "It's not just that the people who come up with good innovation stand to make a fortune… there's also the angle of future computers to help humanity and not just be a strangle-hold on us all."

"Mmm," Tony said thoughtfully, "Lots of people are afraid of what would happen if all technology suddenly crashed." Then he wished he hadn't sounded interested, since the one thing that was necessary right now was for him to be out of here.

"Most of that's SciFi,Tony," Tim said, and Tony grinned.

"Glad to hear it, McAzimov," he said, and Tim's eyes widened momentarily. It was the first incidence of name-mangling since the journey, and he was really hoping Tony wouldn't tease him in front of a lady he wanted to impress. "You have to understand," the Italian went on to Marianne, and Tim was mentally cringing, "That you're talking to a full scale computer genius there, it's how he got the McGeek nickname, it's sort of a compliment really from the rest of us technophobes… Most of what he talks about-" He shrugged, pointed to himself and made an 'over my head' gesture, as the ghost of a grin came back to Tim's face.

Tony stood up. "It's been lovely meeting you again, Marianne," he said, shaking her hand and kissing her cheek. "But I said I'd meet the two young'ns, and I think you two'll want to talk about things that I wouldn't understand one word in twenty of." He looked back at Tim, and his eyes were dancing. "Call me later if you want to meet up again. Enjoy your breakfast – the brioches are very good." He walked away, his face breaking out into a grin as soon as he had his back to them.

Tim realised he'd been holding his breath, and tried not to let it all out in a whoosh. He turned back to Marianne, to see she was smiling. "So people play games with your name, Tim?"

"Well, Tony does…" He realised that Tony had not only given him the perfect ice-breaker, but had deliberately left him alone with the girl he was interested in. "But he's a friend, and it's what friends do."

"Yes, I can see that you're good friends. Did you come up together?"

"We did," he told her. "I never realised I'd be so glad of company on the journey. I was nervous."

"You didn't show it."

"Ah, well that's down to you. I laughed all the way through your presentation. I forgot about being scared. And seeing Tony up there on the back row with the youngsters helped too. How did you come to know Anne-Marie?"

"Well, now… her parents are my godparents. They were all really good friends at university, and stayed friends afterwards. My parents had rather a rush to get married before I arrived, and they asked Marty and Sue to be my godparents. Then it was eight years before they found that they were expecting; they'd more or less given up. When I found I was going to have a godsibling –"

"A godsibling…. I like it," Tim chuckled, wondering if Gemcity could use it.

"It has a ring to it, doesn't it! I said if it's a girl you have to call her Marianne, like me. Precocious nine-year-old that I was. They said two Mariannes would be too many, and said how about Anne-Marie instead."

"There's a certain symmetry to it," Tim said with a grin.

"It makes people blink. Although some never even notice… So how did _you_ get to know her?" She became grave as Tim told her about the murder of Josh's father, and everything that followed.

"I suppose you know about everything since she arrived at Princeton… Tony told me she met Josh on the first induction day; he also said he thought they'd be together for life. I didn't meet her myself until we were involved in putting on a concert just before Christmas; did she tell you about that?"

"That she had a hand in solving a murder? Oh, yes."

"Two, actually…"

"Two?"

"Well…"

The time flew by. They took a leisurely walk around Princeton as Tim entertained Marianne with the amazing story of the gold that had been stolen three times. She linked her arm companionably through his, and he felt about ten feet tall. They walked over to the campus to find the others. Tim wasn't particularly keen, although he didn't let her see that; he'd hoped to keep her to himself for a while longer, since he was completely captivated, but he knew she wanted to say goodbye to her friends.

As they headed for Josh's favourite common room, Tim asked, "What time's your flight?" Please let it be late…

"Three forty. From Philadelpia. I've booked a taxi from the hotel."

"Cancel it." Tim wasn't going to let an opportunity like this go.

"Cancel it?"

"Let me take you to the airport. Please? I'd like to." He decided to go for broke. "It'd mean I could spend a little bit more time with you."

Marianne smiled, thought about it for a very brief moment, and nodded. "That would be great, Tim." She was about to tell him that she'd be back in the USA in a month's time, when she heard Josh call to them.

Tim looked up and braced himself; behind the two youngsters, Tony was looking him straight in the eye and grinning like a Cheshire cat. The younger agent almost disentangled his arm from Marianne's, but then left it there, with a 'so there' glare at his friend. When they went to sit down by the windows, where they'd sat the previous day, Tim offered to get the coffee. Tony, as he'd expected, instantly said, "I'll come with you."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tim held up a warning hand, but the SFA simply grinned at it. "Hey, I'm not going to give you the third degree. Just tell me it worked, McGee."

"What worked?" Oh, it was so good to make Tony squirm occasionally…

"Leaving you together over the hot croissants, of course! McGee…"

"It worked. Actually, thanks. Er, Tony…"

"I'll be good. But you have to tell me all about it on the drive home."

"Erm, yes… about that… What time were you wanting to get back to DC?"

Tony had really wanted to catch a movie and a pizza with Ziva, but he'd said he was happy to wait with their young friends until Tim got back from Philly. (As soon as McGee and Marianne disappeared to go back to the hotel, he was on the phone – "Hi, Zi… guess what?")

* * *

"Oh," Marianne said in surprise, "Now that will teach me not to assume. _This_ is my transport to the airport?"

Tim bowed, and opened the passenger door with a flourish. "Your coach awaits, milady."

(Stop it you fool, you're not DiNozzo. He wagged his finger at himself, if that were possible. Hey – if it wasn't for DiNozzo, this wouldn't be happening.) He closed the door gently, walked round the car and got in.

He smiled at her. "The sharp analytical mind of the federal agent detects… that you assumed, to use your word, that a poor fed couldn't afford a car like this."

"Oh, Tim," Marianne said anxiously, "I didn't mean it to sound like that. I'm such a materialistic girl… impressed by a set of wheels!"

Tim squeezed her hand, (OMG, did I just do that?) and grinned. "I'm _joking._ I couldn't afford this on my salary. I, er… I write. Crime thrillers."

He felt guilty about bragging, especially to a girl who taught at Cornell and did classified work in Europe. But the reaction was all he could have hoped for.

"You're a published author?" And then she showed him just how sharp she was. "Tim McGee… Timothy McGee… you're not… you're Thom E. Gemcity! And you took until now to tell me? Wait 'til I tell my Mutti… she loves your stuff!"

"I'm surprised she's heard of me."

"Tim, they live over here. She's a fan. You'll have to meet her some time." She stopped and clapped her hand to her mouth. "What am I saying? I only seem to open my mouth to put my foot in it…"

The smile Tim gave her almost melted her glasses. He had a sudden rush of blood to the head, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "I'd love to meet your mother," he said cheerfully, and started the car.

He'd have driven more slowly if there hadn't been a flight to catch… once again their talk ranged over many topics, and they each marvelled at how happy and at ease they were in each others' company. They arrived at the airport far too quickly, and Tim carried Marianne's case to the check-in. They stood at the departure gate, and he took her hands. "So… what now? I don't want to let this go, Marianne."

"I think… we should see each other again, Tim… shouldn't we?"

"We should. D'you think we can manage a long-distance relationship?"

"We'll kick ourselves if we don't at least try." She remembered what she'd been going to tell him. "I'll be back in New York in a month's time."

He tucked his card into the pocket of her jacket. She wrote her cell phone number on the cuff of his shirt, as the PA called the boarding of her flight. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then, with all the confidence of a DiNozzo, he drew her close, and kissed her. "Have a safe journey, Dr. Weiss. Call me when you land." He kissed her again, and watched her, his head spinning, as she disappeared through the gate.

He stood still, looking after her for a few moments; and then as he turned to go, he stopped. He had that odd feeling that agents, with permanently alert senses (even if I _have_ just been kissing a lovely blonde girl, he told himself,) sometimes got, that he was being watched. He put his hand down towards his gun, and turned slowly through three hundred and sixty degrees, but nothing stood out. He shrugged, and went back to his car.

* * *

Back at the hotel, waiting for Tony to return from his day with Josh and Anne-Marie, Tim lay on his bed and tried to chill before the journey back to Washington. He wondered if this might have been one of the most significant days of his life. He had no idea how he was going to get through the next month…

After a while, he heard Tony's knock on his door. He braced himself and called "It's open", and the SFA came into the room bouncing on his toes.

His glance went straight to the numbers on Tim's cuff, and his eyes lit up. He didn't comment though, merely asking if his friend was ready to check out. He kept up the self-restraint, barely, until they were in the car and heading out of town. As they came onto the freeway, he finally burst out, "Well, _tell_ me, then!"

**AN: I've never written Tim romance before… I hope it worked. **_**Tell**_** me, then?**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thanks, Sarahsrr for filling in the missing info I needed. You're a mine of information!**

**Small spoiler for Endgame.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 5

Someone dropped a tray in the corridor outside, and shook him out of the fitful doze he'd somehow managed to achieve. It reminded him of Terminator, but for the life of him he couldn't think which bit. His concentration was shot to pieces. He didn't think there was an inch of him that didn't hurt; there were pains shooting down both legs from the small of his back, and he couldn't even remember injuring his legs. He tapped the morphine pump again, although he thought that probably not enough time had elapsed for it to work.

Why was he humming the 'Great Escape' tune? Ziva…I lo-o-ove you Ziva… Ah – McQueen; the Cooler King… Sweat, that was it. He could feel it trickling down his neck again; his labouring, struggling chest was wet and cold with it, the shoulder dressing must be soaked through, he thought, and every bit of him that was in contact with the bed, especially the hurting shoulder, smarted and burned.

The morphine pump was connected to the drip that went into the shunt on his left hand, so why the hell had they left the call button on the same side? Feeling better he'd have had the devil of a job to reach it, let alone operate it… feeling better? La la la DiNozzo, you're losing it… if you were feeling better, you wouldn't _need_ it anyway. OK…well feeling like this he was screwed unless he could find some way of attracting attention. Wait… wait a minute, DiNozzo… what are you saying here? Don't think like that… you've been ill before… don't overdramatise…

Can't help it… the thought floated through his barely focussing mind… I know me… never felt like this… not even with the plague… wasn't alone then, mind… I'll never know if they saved McGee… or Josh… shit, I hoped I'd be best man for at least one of you… dah, dah, di-da da da da… Mari… Anne-Marie… I hope they rescue you… they _will _rescue you… but I'm dying… don't know why, but I'm going to die…

* * *

Tim stood in front of the SFA's desk and glared. "Tony, if you sing the 'Wedding March' once more, I'm going to go into your computer and program it to do nothing but sing 'Lonely Goatherd'. Or 'It's a Small World After All'. And you won't be able to switch it off." Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Tim added, "Or mute it."

Tony's grin was still huge, until Gibbs, walking in on the end of the conversation, said, "McGee, if he sings the 'Wedding March' once more, I'm going to shoot him."

"That'd be more effective, Boss," Tim agreed with a grin bigger than Tony's, while the Italian sat there looking like a twelve year old who'd had his catapult confiscated.

"You're no fun," he grouched eventually, but the smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth, trying to come back. He worked in silence for a while, but finally said, "So how long are you going to be in New York this time?"

"Only over the weekend, Tony. I'm meeting her off her flight first thing tomorrow. But next weekend, we're on rotation; so Mari's coming down here, and I'm just praying we don't catch a case."

Ziva, who had remained silent up to that point, said pleasantly, "And the weekend after that, will you have any time before she goes home?"

Tim looked her straight in the eye. "I'm going to meet her parents," he said, and they could hear the 'so bite me' in his tone. "I'm looking forward to it." Nobody argued.

It was Tony's turn to get the lunch, and he was surprised when Tim said he'd go along. OK, not altogether surprised… he'd seen McGee with a faraway, worried look on his face from time to time, and knew, in the same way that Gibbs always noticed what was going on with _him_, that something was on his mind.

He'd enjoyed watching the younger man's romantic progress; having reached the age of forty, without ever having loved and won himself, he had had to repress a stab of jealousy, especially when he though of Ziva. He was quite prepared to tease in his usual way, but he had to be careful. He wasn't a malicious person by nature, and he had to constantly guard against his comments being barbed.

The name mangling became a challenge; he couldn't work out why he felt that McRomeo was a compliment, but McLoverboy was contemptuous, so he found himself relying on old favourites, and wondered where his originality had gone. There was only one instance where he'd forgotten himself; it had been delivered sharply and with some anger, but better that he should do it than Gibbs.

They were staking out arrivals at Dulles, and needed to concentrate, as there were many people to watch; it was five days since Tim had said goodbye to Mari after his first time with her in New York, and Tony had noticed a slight lack of focus from McGee since.

He'd been giving it a chance to work itself out, but here was Tim staring intently in one direction, instead of scanning the crowd. His eyes were following the back view of a young woman with a trim figure and wispy spikes of blonde hair. She was slightly shorter than Marianne, but otherwise very similar. Tim's eyes were far away, and Gibbs was approaching to check in.

"Hey! McWetdream!" Tony hissed furiously. "Mind on the damn job!" Tim shot him a glare, but from that moment on his attitude was back on track.

Now, as they set out to walk down to the deli, it seemed as if McGee was thinking about that. "You were right, you know."

"What?" Tony asked, horror struck. "I was right to call you McWetdream?"

"What? Er… oh, that… hey, you were right about that too, I realised you'd been letting me get away with things, and not sicking me out to Gibbs, so I sorted myself out… but I was thinking of the drive back from Princeton. I said I'd worked fast; I was surprised at myself, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. And I said you'd have taken it slower if you'd had the time. But that day, if you'd hung back, you might have lost the chance."

"Yeah. Well, you were right. Mari said so yesterday when I called her. If I hadn't done a DiNozzo, she'd have thought I didn't care."

"Done a DiNozzo?"

"Well, she didn't put it that way…"

He was silent for a while, until Tony said, "Come on, McDiffident… you didn't come out here to tell me I was right. What's bugging you?"

"I don't know if I'm being stupid… I trust Mari, but…" Tony simply waited patiently. "I never told you on that drive back… After I watched her going through the departure gate at Philly, I stood for a moment, just … I don't know, feeling good – and then I got this feeling I was being watched. I looked round, pretty carefully, but I didn't see anything." Tony looked at him seriously, but didn't interrupt.

"It's happened several times since when I've been with her, once in a restaurant near Central Park, once here in DC, when I saw a flash reflected in a window, and I think it was the reflection of a camera pointed at us. Mari asked me what I was looking at, so I told her; I don't know whether that was a good idea or not… She laughed it off, but just for a second or two I thought she looked nervous. It happened again at JFK when she went back."

"You never saw anyone?" Tony asked thoughtfully.

"I _thought_ I saw a shadow one time, but I'm not sure. You think I'm imagining things?"

"Gibbs hasn't trained you to imagine things. Do you know any more about this top secret work that Marianne does?"

"No, I haven't asked. But I reckon she does it over here at Cornell as well; I was talking to one of her students, who mentioned in passing that if you wanted to talk to her on a Thursday afternoon, you'd be out of luck, you could never even find her, so I put two and two together."

"What else?" his friend asked. "Come on… I can see there's more."

"Bertha."

"_Bertha_?"

"She was really interested in the specifics of how Bertha got fried. She wanted to know about the power surge, exactly what had caused it, and did our building have an adequate surge protector. I explained that there was only a cell phone involved, and it had been target specific to any computer that was set to decode it, but it _had _fooled the surge protector; and that seemed to satisfy her curiosity. But then I thought back to that first morning, at breakfast, when I spoke about future computers to benefit humanity, and not having to depend on them. And the comment that you made, about people being afraid of a great technocrash. It's often talked about as The Pulse."

"And you said it's mostly SciFi."

"True. But you were looking at me throughout that exchange, and I was looking at her, and I saw a look cross her face that I couldn't identify – call it high interest. I think her job could have to do with future technology –"

"The work we know about does," Tony agreed.

"If we knew just what, we'd know whether it's the sort of thing that could draw unwanted attention. I don't know what to do."

Tony nodded, and didn't say anything as they were quite near the deli by now, but he was doing some serious thinking as he bought the lunch. As they began to retrace their steps, he took a deep breath.

"Right… let's forget, just temporarily, that she's the girl you've fallen for. Is there a threat to her? Is she a threat to you, or to anyone? Does she or any of this constitute a threat to the country? OK, now we remember again. There's no suggestion so far that she's a threat to anybody… and… look, I suppose you're remembering Amanda, but I really don't think it's the same, honestly. What should we do? We should investigate. Gibbs, me and Ziva. Not you."

"Ah." It was all Tim could think of to say.

"I guess it would be up to you what you told Marianne… maybe best to be up front…" he was quiet for so long that McGee said his name anxiously. "I wouldn't like _you_ to have the woman you… love, right? Telling you she wishes she'd never met you."

"Ah, Tony…I shouldn't have said anything…"

"Yes, you should. And you've known all along that if you involve me, you involve Gibbs… and Ziva too."

"Yes, I suppose I have." He sighed. "You don't think…"

"That she's some sort of techno criminal? My gut says no… doesn't yours? If it didn't you'd be bowing out of the relationship by now."

Tim nodded, and sighed heavily. "I may lose her anyway, if she doesn't like what we're doing."

"She may need protection, and be glad you care. You may want to find out what it is she's nervous about. If you can, you need to find out from her if she has the help, or interest of any other agency… like Langley for instance. It could be _them_ watching her."

"That sounds like me investigating."

"Yeah, kinda. But if you were just asking her as a friend, and you happened to remark to me as a friend…Mmm, semantics. McGee, I don't think you're imagining all this, and I do think you're right to involve us. If there's any danger to you, we need to know." He paused, to see if Tim had anything to add. He hadn't. "Why is nothing ever simple, huh? Let's go talk to Gibbs."

He pulled out his phone. "Or wait a minute. I got a better idea. Boss? You busy? Well, it's a beautiful sunny day. Why don't you and Ziva come down here to eat? Boss, I think you should, really. Good."

They walked back to the deli, and sat down at one of the tables outside, to wait for the rest of the team. "Nice thinking," Tim approved. "No Vance to eavesdrop."

"That's how I saw it. We can decide later if and when we include him. We may have to, though. Eventually."

He was distributing the food round the table, and they were both thinking silently, when Gibbs and Ziva arrived and sat down. Ziva pounced on her food, but Gibbs fixed Tony with his usual glare, and said, "Wanna tell me, DiNozzo, why it takes two to fetch the lunch? And why I get hauled away from my nice comfy desk?"

His tone said they'd better have a good explanation, but his eyes said, 'Hey, what's wrong, then?'

They shared the story, so one could eat while the other spoke, then sat back, and waited.

Gibbs took a long pull at his coffee, then said, "DiNozzo's right, McGee. Even if you tell her what we're doing, you need to stay right out of it. For her sake, for yours, and for the investigation's sake too."

Tim said heavily, "There's going to be an investigation, then, Boss?"

"Unofficial, in our spare time…" He paused for a moment and sighed. "I'll be honest with you, Tim, after what you've told me, I feel pretty uneasy about you being in New York without the back up of the team… but it can't be helped."

"You've taught me to take care of myself, Boss. I'll be fine. You think I should tell her?"

Gibbs' face suggested he'd like to say no, but as he hesitated, Ziva said wisely, "If she is a techno-criminal, she will be expecting us to investigate, so there is no point in secrecy. We've all kept secrets from each other, and what good did it ever do us? Tell her what you've told us."

They started back towards HQ, with Tim and Tony lagging behind. "Will you be in a hotel?" Tony asked, and he was truthfully only enquiring because it wasn't easy to defend yourself in such a place, but McGee thought he was being asked a more Tony sort of question.

(Well, hell, he _had_ wondered at first, but didn't _need_ to after Tim's first return from New York.)

"Marianne has an apartment in Manhattan," Tim said, and gave Tony a direct look. "We stay there."

"I should pull up the drawbridge, then," was all Tony said.

"If I'm not chucked over the battlements," McGee said gloomily. "It could be a stormy day tomorrow."

**AN: We're getting a bit closer to the middle… where we started… review, please?**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Tiny insignificant spoiler for Reunion, poss Good Cop Bad Cop.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 6

The light in the ceiling was expanding and contracting, and wobbling as if it were reflected in water. He wished the water would come cascading down all over him and put out the fire… he wished he could remember who he was, and what he was doing here, and why it was necessary to burn like this…

He could feel tears on his cheeks, and they were scalding hot. He was crying for weakness, crying for pain, and crying for loneliness, and then he remembered why he was here. Why _they _weren't here. He could see, reflected in the light-in-the-ceiling, over and over again, the muzzle flash of the gun as it was aimed at him. He could feel, over and over again, the impact of the bullet in the muscle of his chest… or was it just the pounding of his heart? There were no individual pains any more, just the burning… burning…

The roaring of the flames was in his ears… they were all he could hear. He wondered if he _wanted_ to die, to get away from this… from the burning, from the news that would come, of the deaths of his friends… no, he'd be long gone by then… their faces loomed over him… eyes as big as grasshoppers, expanding and contracting like the-light-in-the-ceiling… their lips moving… He saw Jenny in there, and Kate, and Paula… were they trying to tell him he was already dead? Ducky… no, he couldn't be… his father… why him… no Gibbs… but he still believed.

"Gibbs'll come," he croaked. "'S all right. Gibbs'll fix everything."

* * *

Tim got to Marianne's apartment late that night; she didn't have a car in the USA so her slot in the underground parking was free for him. She'd given him a pass card, and introduced him to the concierge, who also watched the monitors for the parking lot, and (he hadn't mentioned this to Tony, he wasn't daft,) she'd also given him her spare key. _Every bachelor's dream, McGettingiton,_ he could hear him saying, _The key to her pad…_

He looked round carefully when he got out of the Porsche, making mental notes of everything around him; but he didn't get that uneasy feeling. He took a jellybean from his pocket, and put it on the fender support strut, where it wouldn't be noticed, but where it would fall on the ground if the car were touched. Ziva had said she used to use a coin for the same purpose, and Tony had suggested using something soft that wouldn't be heard if it hit the concrete.

Leaving his baby with an anxious backward glance, he stood still in front of the camera by the stairway door, so that Smarty, the concierge could see him, then swiped his card. After stopping to exchange a few friendly words with the tall, beefy black guy, he headed up to Mari's apartment. He uncovered his gun, although he didn't draw it, not wishing to alarm any neighbour who might appear, as he put the key in the lock. Once through the door, he drew the Sig, and checked every room and closet. He felt a little foolish, but Gibbs had taken him aside and said be careful. So had Tony. So had Ziva.

He checked the lock, and the window to the fire escape; a would-be intruder would need a jackhammer to break in, and Tim was pretty certain he'd hear one. He switched on the bug sweeper that Abby had given him, and found to his relief that the apartment was clear. He'd have hated the thought of someone listening to what went on last time he was here. He took things from the freezer that they'd need tomorrow… hoping that he'd still be _here_ then, heated up a microwave meal, chilled for half an hour, and went to bed, deliberately laying his head on the pillow on Marianne's side of the bed, as if it would bring her to him sooner.

* * *

Gibbs had managed to get the weekend duties changed, the excuse being that next weekend McGee's girlfriend was visiting, and he'd like to be off rotation. It gave them a cast iron excuse to be in the bullpen now, in case the Director called in. They trusted him well enough, but if they involved him, he'd involve SecNav, who'd involve the Pentagon, the CIA, Homeland Security, Old Uncle Tom Cobbleigh and all… and they didn't want to let all of that loose on Marianne unless it was absolutely necessary.

As hackers go, Abby wasn't in quite the same league as Tim, but she wasn't exactly a beginner either, and she knew how not to get caught, as she ploughed through Cornell's records for everything they had about Dr. Marianne Weiss.

Ziva talked to an Israeli friend at Cornell; a girl who hadn't dropped her like a hot potato when she had given up her homeland. Miri had understood, and for that, Ziva was grateful.

Tony contacted every police officer who ever owed him a favour, and read every article he could find on technocrash on the net.

Gibbs talked to a guy at Langley who he'd always found reliable. If he couldn't tell you he wouldn't, but if he did, what he said was the truth. He also got a list of every time Marianne had entered the country, and pulled up the footage of every relevant camera at JFK, and the one time that she'd flown into Philadelphia.

Round about three o'clock, they pooled resources. Marianne was not on any police department's records, as a suspect, witness or victim. The CIA knew what Dr. Weiss was involved in, and no, he couldn't divulge that, it was classified, but he could say that it was highly theoretical. They had no particular interest in her. If Gibbs found out that someone else did, they'd like to know. Marianne was popular at Cornell, very, very smart, honest, a good teacher, and everybody knew about the missing Thursdays, when, Miri said, she was sometimes seen in the company of Professor Oshiro.

"Information on him is sketchy, but he is attached to the computer department at Cornell."

"Does he travel much?" Tony asked. "I'm just thinking that Marianne does."

"I'll see what I can find," Abby said.

Ziva's phone rang, and she spoke for a while, sometimes in English, sometimes Hebrew. "We both like to keep our hands on," she said sheepishly when she'd hung up.

"Er… hand in, Zi," Tony said, and got a blank look. "Did Miri find out more?"

"She stresses that it is only rumour, but it is a field where there is more rumour than known fact –"

"The Pulse!" Tony said triumphantly. "Everything from learned professors to complete nut-jobs, with every different shade of opinion, and hardly a solid fact could I dig up."

"What the information technology of the future might consist of, and also how to protect it against such things as 'The Pulse' from the moment it first becomes reality. Apparently very secret research is going on in Switzerland, in the Geneva area –"

"Where Marianne is based," Gibbs added.

"And to which Professor Oshiro travels regularly!" Abby said, her triumph equalling Tony's.

Ziva threw up her hands, and leaned back in her chair. "Fine! You can tell the rest of it, then."

They all folded their arms meekly, sat still, and shut up.

"_Rumour hath it_, that technology of the future will be more immediately and closely linked than at present, and that as fast as it is developed, attempts will be made to corrupt it."

"Plus ca change," Tony said, and thought of Paris. "Sorry. Shutting up,"

"What?" Gibbs asked, built-in irritability beginning to bubble, due to lack of caffeine.

"Plus ca change, plus la meme chose," Ziva said smoothly, her pronunciation putting Tony's to shame. He managed to wilt and look rueful all at the same time. "The more it changes, the more it stays the same. Viruses today, who knows what tomorrow. Until you know what you have, you can neither attack, nor defend it. And if the links are closer, if you can attack, it may be possible to spread the damage further afield."

"Like nationwide. Or even worldwide," Tony said gleefully, back to his Pulse.

She smiled briefly. "Miri recalled that she was in a bar with some friends from the Department of Computer Sciences one evening, and they became a little inebriated and loose tongued. After she had spoken to me, she had coffee with one of them, and asked him again. He said it was all only rumour, but why did that Swiss doctor and Professor Oshiro spend so much time in each others' pockets?"

Gibbs nodded. "We need to tell Tim this… but he's not answering his phone. He's not been in touch since he reported that tracker this morning."

Tony grinned. "He did say he wouldn't. He's off duty, Boss," he said, with a leer designed especially to annoy Ziva. "Or, she's so cross she's hit him over the head with something."

"You're next," Gibbs said sourly.

"His car went to JFK this morning," Abby said. "It's back in the garage in Manhattan right now. Tim's phone is switched off. I'm sure he'll switch it back on soon," she added brightly. Gibbs muttered something unintelligible; grumpiness overlaid by frustration, overlaid by anxiety.

"I'll go for coffee," Tony said soothingly.

"And when you get back, you can give me a hand going through these airport tapes."

"What are we looking for, Boss?" Tony's expression bordered on gormless.

"Well, I don't _know_, DiNozzo," Gibbs exploded. "That's why it's called looking."

Tony didn't turn away quite quickly enough to hide his grin, and Gibbs knew he'd been suckered into venting… again. He felt better.

* * *

Marianne lay with her head on Tim's shoulder, her arm across his chest. She sighed contentedly. He pulled her closer, and pulled the duvet up over her shoulder to cosset her. "Am I forgiven?"

She sighed again, and stretched, and he revelled in the wonderful sensation of the whole length of her body resting against his. "You didn't do anything wrong, Tim. It was just a shock…"

The jelly bean had still been there when he'd gone back to the Porsche in the morning; and he'd pocketed it again, before he drove to the airport. As he waited at arrivals, he tried not to look as if he were looking round; he knew that at some point the team would be looking at this footage, and he hoped they might be able to see what he couldn't.

His meeting with Mari had been warm but subdued, she looked really weary from the overnight flight, and he rubbed her back as he hugged her. She travelled light, having duplicates of everything she needed in the two apartments, the one in Manhattan, the other in Geneva; all she carried apart from her purse was a secure case with her laptop and some memory sticks. Tim had taken the case, put his arm around her, and led her off to his car.

He was no closer to deciding how and when to broach the subject he had to talk about, than when he'd begun the debate when he started out for New York City last evening… and then the matter had been taken out of his hands. As they'd approached the car, he'd glanced down, and the jelly bean was gone. He peered down, and there it was, on the ground, squashed by a shoe. His blood had run cold.

"Marianne…"

"What's wrong, Tim?"

"Mari… go and stand behind a pillar… or behind a car as far away as possible. Better still, go back through the door to the stairs."

She had looked at the way he was circling the car, and his drawn gun, and dug her heels in.

"No. I'm not leaving."

"Mari, please… there could be a bomb."

"A bomb? I can't leave you here with a bomb…"

They were wasting time arguing… he threw himself down on the scruffy concrete and began to examine the underside of the car, thinking fast. Both the hood and the trunk were secure, thanks to Abby's secret device; to open either illegally, you'd need a crowbar… so anything had to be inside the car or underneath. He'd spotted it almost immediately; a tracking device very similar to the ones Abby had put on all of their vehicles after the explosion that had destroyed Tony's Mustang. Except that this one wasn't concealed anything like as well. He left it where it was, and checked the rest of the car carefully. There was nothing else that he could see.

"It's OK," he told Marianne as he brushed himself down. "Well, it's not… but it's not a bomb." Mari was looking ten shades of puzzled and anxious, which got worse as Tim explained about the jelly bean. She looked down at its poor, squished corpse, as Tim pulled a bug sweeper from the trunk. After he'd swept it over the Porsche, he said, "We're clear." He opened the door for her. "Let's get out of here."

As they pulled out of the parking bay, he said, "Mari, someone's put a tracker under my car. They couldn't do it while it was in your parking lot because that's secure, so they waited until it was out here."

"Why would they do that? Tim? Why are you looking like that?"

He reached across and squeezed her hand. "Sweetheart, there are some things I need to tell you… I need you to remember two things…"

"_What?_" She was thoroughly alarmed.

"One… I love you. Two…try to keep from hitting me while I'm driving."

They were fifteen of the hairiest miles he'd ever spent in a car. He'd tried to persuade her to wait until they got home, so they could talk calmly. "Sweet, I can't hug you while I'm driving."

"I don't _want_ you to hug me. I want to know what you think I've done. I don't know if I _ever_ want you to hug me again."

"Honey…"

Tim finished his explanation as they crossed onto the island; by the time he was pushing the security card in at the garage entrance, Marianne had just about calmed down. As he switched the engine off, in Marianne's parking slot, there were tears on her cheeks, and he reached for her hands. He offered a silent prayer of relief when she didn't snatch them away.

"So, let me get this straight…you don't think I've done anything… but you're investigating me."

Tim got out of the car, came round to her side, helped her out and dug out a hanky. "We're investigating the circumstances that could possibly surround the fact that you're being watched," Tim said as he dried her tears. "As far as my team's concerned it's to protect you. Which is why we haven't told anyone higher up."

Mari just looked bewildered, as they headed up to the lobby. "All this is based on tingly hairs on the back of your neck, and one jelly bean!"

"And one tracker on my car – no, don't tell me it's me they're tracking, you know it's not – and the nervous look on your face when we saw that camera reflected."

"Well… yes…anyone in my line of work thinks it could possibly happen… but I've never been watched!"

He'd tried to calm her with an endearment she'd used on him. "_Liebchen_, you'd never know."

"Morning, Doc," Smarty had said cheerfully. "Welcome back. Hi, Tim. Hey… something you should maybe know… while you were gone, a guy snuck into the garage. I could have scared him off right away… I've got this big loud PA, right? Watch…"

He'd run the recording; a wiry guy in a hoodie, whose nimble movements suggested youth, and whose furtiveness suggested up to no good, ducked under the barrier, and began to check the names on the slots. When he saw that Mari's was empty, his body language said 'Shit!' very clearly.

"This is where I say, hey, bozo, smile, you're on Candid Camera – watch what the fool does." The youth froze, turned wildly, and looked straight up into the lens, before turning to run. "Now, I could say, opportunist thief, knows there's a Porsche moved into the neighbourhood, but how would he know it should be in your slot, Doc?"

Mari had looked at Tim, eyes wide. "Thanks, Smarty," he told the ex-cop. He knew that the big guy had been a precinct sergeant on the island for many years before retiring to a softer seat, and he trusted his judgment. He also knew that Smarty was aware he was a fed. "Would you go on keeping your eyes open? And would you email this recording to my boss?" He'd written down the address quickly. "It's possible someone wants a sneak preview of Mari's work. This guy could be known." He shook Smarty's hand. "Thanks again."

Mari said nothing, all the way up to her apartment, and when the door was closed behind them, she sank into a chair, without even removing her coat. Tim looked at her, but left her to collect her thoughts, while he made her favourite, latte coffee, to cheer her up. He had to wrap her fingers round the mug for her, she was so deep in thought. He sat on the floor at her feet and waited, thinking his own uncomfortable thoughts. If they discounted opportunist thief, then either they were disorganised enough to send two different people to bug the car, in two different places, or, there were two lots of people watching. He didn't tell Marianne that. She'd almost finished the drink before she spoke.

"I can't believe this is happening."

"But you said you thought it could possibly happen," he reminded her gently. Wrong thing to say.

Mari had banged her mug down, and stormed off into the bedroom, yelling over her shoulder, "Will you stop being so damn _reasonable_?" As he followed her, she was still storming. "You've just turned my life upside down, frightened me to death, and you're saying I expected it? I thought I'd simply found myself a nice guy… and I've found a can of worms I don't want to even think about…"

Tim tried humour. "Aw, Sweetheart, you're saying I'm a worm?"

"Take me seriously, damn you…" she flung herself at him, pummelling with her fists, and carrying him backwards onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around her so she couldn't hit him any more, and waited until she ran out of steam. Finally, she sniffed, and said, "Well, I guess I feel better now…"

He'd kissed her gently. "I do take you seriously." He'd glanced left and right at where they were lying, grinned, given her his best puppy eyes, and whispered, "_Very _seriously."

Now, comfortably entangled, they only bothered to speak occasionally, as however alarmed she might feel about what Tim had said, jet-lag and a warm post-lovemaking fuzz were slowly claiming Mari, but her mind settled on one thing she needed to say.

"_Liebling,_"… she said sleepily, "I still can't tell you what I do."

"Don't worry, love… the team'll do their job, and pretty soon, I'll be able to tell _you._"

**AN: I have no opinion on the Pulse one way or the other… I'm only using it in the story. Review, please?**


	7. Chapter 7

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 7

Sometimes it was light, sometimes it was very dark. He tried to sing to himself, but he couldn't remember any words. He thought he'd watch a movie, but when he tried to run Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones, he got penguins. Penguins driving Porsches… penguins riding yellow motorbikes…

He moved his head feebly on the pillow… trying to find a cool patch… the movie had a shimmering heat haze over it, it was all rising from him… There was a bug on his pillow… it looked like a jelly bean, but it had those grasshopper eyes… stop bugging me… oh, that's good, DiNozzo… bugging me… he laughed out loud, but so much fire blazed under his ribcage, he had to stop. The laugh tailed off in a miserable whimper of pain.

Oh, here come the penguins… and pretty colours… swirling pretty colours… penguins in penguin suits, pretty ladies in ball gowns… whirling and swirling… music…this was moving things…this was good… this was nearly the time when Gibbs came…

Tell me the pretty ladies are safe, Boss… tell me McGee's safe… tell me you saved Josh… Please tell me… come and tell me… come and tell me…

* * *

If Gibbs had wanted to embarrass McGee for not getting in touch sooner, he was out of luck. They both knew that Tim was incapable of lying, but Tony, who'd been on the end of some of the younger man's uncompromisingly straight answers lately, and quietly approved, knew that the Boss's blunt bark would no longer produce a stuttering probie. He was pretty certain that Gibbs knew it too, but the evening was drawing in on a day when they'd all originally planned other things, and there was that underlying anxiety…

"McGee! Where the hell have you been? What the hell have you been doing?"

"We've been sleeping, Boss. We needed it." Tim's tone, coming from the speakerphone, was flat. Gibbs' eyebrows shot up, but he made no comment. Tony firmly repressed a grin, until he caught Ziva's sly glance across the top of their monitors, and he had to put his hand over his mouth. "Marianne didn't get much on the flight, and then what I told her was pretty alarming, and we had a couple of things happen."

"Like _what_?"

Tim explained, and Abby went to bring up the email that Smarty had sent. "Marianne said she still can't tell us what her job is, I said we'd be telling her before too long."

"How about we have a stab now?" Tony asked. "Is Mari there?" He knew she would be, McGee wasn't going to make _his _mistake. (He was pretty certain his friend had heard the pain in his voice, yesterday, when he'd advised him to tell his lady the truth. He hadn't _wanted_ to show it, but even someone with a lifetime's experience of concealing their feelings can be caught off guard. 'Hey!' he told himself sharply, and pushed the momentary bitterness aside.)

"I'm listening, Tony."

The SFA repeated what Ziva's friend had said, and then said carefully, "Mari, am I right?" The Swiss doctor didn't answer. "OK, if I were wrong, you'd have told me so, am I right now?"

"Yes, Tony." She paused, and sighed. "How did you find out? How did you find out so _quickly_?" When Tony explained, she sighed again. "The lengths we go to, and all it takes is a few beers to loosen tongues." They heard Tim say something in the background, and Marianne answered, "Yes," at once.

"Boss? We think we should come to Washington. Right now. What should I do about this tracker?"

"Leave it. They'll probably expect you to come here at some time. They're just making life easier for themselves. Come here, we'll knock the thing off, see what Abbs can get off it. They may think that we routinely sweep for bugs –"

"We _do_, Gibbs," Abby protested. "At least, I do. For everybody, regularly!"

"Yeah, Abbs, I know. Can you find out what you can about it, then put it back without them knowing?

"Are you even asking?"

"That's good, then. Like I said, McGee, come here first, then we'll all go to my place."

Abby started on facial recognition software, as Gibbs and Tony went back to studying security tapes. Ziva looked at them both, nodded thoughtfully to herself and went for coffee and donuts. Tony found a camera at JFK that covered the section of the car park where Tim had said he'd left the Porsche. He found the right time, and watched as the stylish German car came down to find a slot. He watched McGee glance up at the camera, just so's there'd be no question of whose Porsche it was, and then look around. He shook his head at the camera, no-one there - before going off towards the stairs.

Tony doubled the speed of the video and waited, until after about forty minutes, camera time, he sat forwards in his seat. Well, that took care of one of Tim's worries. A Kawasaki Ninja came down the line of cars, and stopped. The rider dismounted and tried to look under the low slung sports car without taking his helmet off, and Tony snorted with laughter. Gibbs looked up, and Tony reversed the video, then paused it until the Boss joined him.

"Abby'll find this guy, Gibbs. He's too stupid not to have a record. Recognise him?"

"Oh, yeah." A moment later, the skinny youth from the parking garage was revealed as the helmet was removed. Gibbs thought for a moment. "They know enough of Marianne's movements to know where McGee had gone, and send this genius after him to have a second try at leaving the bug. Means we don't have to worry about two different interested parties, at least as far as we know."

Tony called Tim, to let him know, and just to check in, really. "Hey, McKimble, got some good news."

"Good to hear. I don't think we're fugitives though."

"You don't? That's good. You sure?"

"We're not being followed. I'm certain of that. I'm going too damn fast, for one thing. Any way of warning local LEOs? Keep them off my tail? I'm transporting an important witness. Anyway, why would we be? After all, we don't know we've got a bug on board. What's the good news?"

Tony could tell that his friend was rather tense from his staccato speech, and wondered just how fast he _was_ driving. "There's only one bug planter. He rode a fast motorbike. Soon as we know who he is we'll ask NYPD to pull him in for us. Oh, and you know what I said about you not being involved in the investigation? I think that's been blown away now, don't you?"

Tim sounded relieved. " Sounds like it. Can't say I'm sorry. Thanks for that. We'll be there in two-thirty."

Well… McIndy _was_ going fast.

In the waiting time, they went through footage from every relevant camera they could come up with, and spotted a few repeated faces. Abby put them into the facial recognition programme to wait their turn, and had an idea. "I should have thought of it earlier," she grumbled. She focussed on the Ninja's plate as the bug planter drove away, and moments later had the owner.

Her joy was short-lived; the bike belonged to a holding company in Albany; the sort of set-up that they knew from experience took hours or days or was impossible to unravel. Still, they had one of the best unravellers in the country, when he got here, that was.

The biker's name was Paul Ware, he had a record as they suspected; mostly in New York City, and entirely small time; they suspected he wouldn't be able to tell them much, and opted for not picking him up yet. As soon as they did, of course, whoever was holding his leash, and letting him ride round on a pretty yellow Kawasaki, would know that they suspected something. Tony had an idea; he called a friend at NYPD and asked for a heads up if Ware was arrested by them in the near future. It would be possible then to question him without his bosses knowing.

"Hell, DiNozzo, just give us the nod and we'll find something to arrest him for anyway."

"I'll get back to you on that, Paddy. I owe you."

"No, ya don't, we'll be quits for looking out for Lola. She's doing fine, by the way."

(The young runaway had been pulled in by Tony during a case, for attempting to steal a purse. There was something he recognised in the girl, and he steadfastly refused to hand her over to her father when he came to demand her back. He'd put her in the care of Paddy Frame instead, and the tale of abuse that had emerged had proved him right. Sometimes, the legacy of a less than ideal childhood came in useful.)

By the time Tim and Mari came up from the evidence garage where they'd brought Tim's car, the recognition software had come up with no names, and Mari didn't recall seeing any of the faces they'd picked out. "But you said I wouldn't have seen them anyway, Tim."

The tracker was a standard GPS unit as used by fleets and private owners everywhere. There were no viable fingerprints, and the serial number had been removed with acid. Abby tried polarised light, and various other techniques, but it was irrecoverable, and there was no way to tell who bought the unit. She replaced it on the Porsche, which they left in the garage, and they headed off to Gibbs' house. Tony and Ziva picked up takeaway on the way over, and Marianne was introduced to brainstorming, MCRT style.

"There could be nothing particular to it…" Gibbs said as they were laying the food out. "They, whoever they are, may have been watching you for months… they could simply be shadowing everyone they think might be useful. You might never have known if Tim hadn't been alert."

"But useful how?" Marianne asked, her voice rising a little in frustration.

"Maybe espionage, if they think you have something a foreign power would want," Tony began. Mari looked distracted, but didn't interrupt. "Or industrial espionage; that's always gone on. It seems to be low-grade at the moment; your apartment isn't bugged, nor is your house phone according to Tim, and he'd know…might be useful to check out any rooms or phones you use at Cornell…" Tony was thinking aloud now. "They're checking whether you actually enter and leave the country when you say you're going to, who you meet with; they'll have checked your McEscort out by now and found he _isn't_ married so no opportunity for blackmail, that he _is_ a fed so he could be a nuisance…"

Mari looked anxiously at Tim, who glared at Tony. "Sorry, McGee, but there's no point in whitewashing any of this, really."

Marianne shook her head. "There's one thing you don't realise about all this," she said, and looked round at them all. "I wouldn't lie to you about it… the fact is there is nothing… nothing at all… for them to steal. There are papers written postulating theories, and the wisest of professors would be hard put to know which of the many things suggested will ever see the light of day. We keep these ideas very secret, since we don't wish to give any opposition any information at all. Who is to know, my colleagues say, what spark of inspiration we may give them."

Her pretty face twisted momentarily into a rueful grimace. "Of course, what we might be hiding most of all is our embarrassment at the fact that we really have nothing! Who this opposition might be, I have no idea. There is some research being done into the possibility of organic conductors, for instance, but there _are no _organic conductors in existence, at least not to my knowledge – they would have to be very secret indeed – and no way of knowing if there ever will be. Whatever these people want… it's not there for them to have."

Tony looked across at Gibbs to see if he was thinking the same thing that he was, and there was a small frown between the Boss's brows… his SFA decided to speak to him later, having already incurred McGee's wrath once. If things were so hush-hush, wouldn't it be simpler to just snatch the scientist? Or had he been watching too many spy movies?

Mari sighed. "And to think, Tim, that I was so excited during the flight because I had something good to ask you."

"You did?" Tim took his lady's hands, and rubbed them gently. "Better ask me now, then, if it's good. I could do with cheering up."

"Next time I come back to the States, will be for the Princeton graduation ceremonies. I really need to be there for Anne-Marie, since her parents can't be; they're really upset about it, and we all agreed you and I would be the next best thing."

Tim stood up and bowed, drawing a tiny smile from her. "I would be honoured, my lady." As he sat down, he couldn't help noticing that while Marianne's smile was tiny and fragile, the SFA's was huge.

"So, are you going to the ball afterwards?"

"Of course, Tony."

"Oh, boy… Does McGee get to wear his tux? Cuz don't let anyone tell you he looks like a penguin… it's a vicious rumour. Honestly, Marianne, he scrubs up really well…" Tim began to glower, but Mari began to giggle.

"So, Tony, are you going to wear that white effort that makes you look like you're on your day off from the mafia?" Tim snarked back.

"Oh, no… I'll be indistinguishable from all the other penguins…" like he'd ever believe that… "But for one small thing. _You'll_ have one lovely lady on your arm, _I_ on the other hand, will have two." There, he'd put a more robust smile on Mari's face.

"You mean Claire's coming too! Does Josh know?"

"Oh, yes. Her first grown up ball. Gill thought it would be really wrong to leave her at home."

"That's good. She gets on well with Anni… I swear she's already making plans to be their bridesmaid."

Tim, happy to see his lady relaxing a little, said, "It's what little sisters do," and pretended not too see the gleeful look that Tony and Abby exchanged. McGee had a little sister…

**AN: I don't know the first thing about computers of the future. It's fiction. Don't know much about computers of the present either. But there's this little button down there, which you can press and talk to me… Action next chapter – at last, do I hear you say?**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I couldn't write about the graduation ceremony; I couldn't find any info, so I drew on memories of my own, many years ago in mucky Manchester.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 8

He was feeling the thump of the bullet again… and again… and again…he wasn't even feeling the heat any more… or the pain, unless he moved… his body had had enough… it was quitting on him…

Goodbye, Boss, I know you'll come… in the end… Goodbye, Ziva… I can't think of any words to say to you… that you'd want to hear… Tim… I know Gibbs saved you… be happy… Abbs… sweet Abby… _No!!!_ Oh, I'm roaring… it's only inside me… but I mean it… I meeeaaan it… No silly sad farewells… DiNozzos don't do schmaltz… I _won't_ die… I will not… Gibbs'll come… Gibbs'll come…

* * *

Life attempted to return to normal. They all agreed that although there was nothing to alarm SecNav with, Director Vance should be filled in on the weekend's discoveries. He agreed that a watching brief should be kept, although there was nothing to specifically involve NCIS other than the planting of a bug on an agent's vehicle. He surprised them utterly by ordering Tim to go with Marianne on her return to Switzerland, to meet with an agent from the Naples office who would fly up to check over her security there.

"Thank you,Director," Tim said, unable to conceal his astonishment.

"Dr. Weiss has dual citizenship," Vance said, "We don't want the Swiss thinking we're any less than assiduous in keeping her safe. It could also be seen as information gathering for sister agencies." His grin was a little wolfish, as he knew just as well as any other agency director that sisterhood could be shaped any way you like.

"I'll arrange for you to consult with the Swiss Intelligence Service, to be polite, and to see if there's anything they need to do. I don't know if there's anything in all this… but you and the rest of your team aren't the only ones that have gut feelings, McGee. Oh, and I don't want to rain on your parade, but you do what you have to do, and then you _come home._ You're not going on holiday. Clear?"

"Clear, Director." For a couple more days with Mari, he'd have agreed to get on the plane wearing a tutu.

In the fortnight before she went back to Europe, they kept up their information gathering in between working cases. Tony spoke to Paddy Frame again. "Hey, you know we were quits? Well… I really am going to end up owing you this time…" The lieutenant agreed to have his men keep an eye on Mari for the time she was in New York City and away from Tim's protection. "She'll be OK with us, DiNo, no problems. We'll photograph anyone we think's showing an interest. And we'll keep a close eye on our Mr. Ware. How's that?"

"Like I said, Paddy, I owe you."

"Hey, just wait until I need someone tracked in DC, all night, every night for a week." Tony winced. It was unlikely to happen, at least he hoped it was, but if it did, it was a small price to pay for Mari's safety and McGee's peace of mind.

Tim followed the ownership of the motorcycle back to an agency in New York City that called itself simply 'Fixer'. It was a bona fide company, except, as Tony said, anything that gave itself a slightly shady name like that couldn't complain if you thought it _was_ shady. It specialised in finding people and equipment to solve problems.

Nikki Jardine offered to go and see them, posing as a lawyer who was being blackmailed. They insisted that they were completely above board and had nothing to hide. But, they said, they knew people who could be 'very scary' if necessary. Nikki thought fast, pretended to take fright – "I only wanted the photos stolen back, I don't want anybody hurt!" She fled convincingly. When she got back to DC she said, "Well, either they spotted me, although I don't think so, or they're crooks." Tony and Tim had flowers sent to her desk, since they couldn't take the pretty germ freak out to lunch.

They pulled together all the information they could on the personnel of Fixers, it was run by a South African called Piet Veldt, and Gibbs said 'ex-mercenary' as soon as he laid eyes on his photo. Tony grimaced, that wasn't good. He drew Gibbs to one side and mentioned his people snatching theory. Gibbs nodded. "Something to keep in mind."

The ladies went shopping for ball gowns, and it was the only time that Mari thought she might have been aware of someone watching. Tony contacted the store, and pulled a shot of a young, intense looking man with dark hair; Willi Hartig, an employee of Fixers. They spoke to the Director, but they knew it still wasn't enough. They compared notes with Fornell, who said they were aware of Fixers too, but hadn't anything new to add. When Fornell said couldn't, they knew he didn't mean wouldn't. They'd gone as far as they could.

Tim went back to Geneva with Marianne, and came back four days later with that look on his face that he was completely unaware of, but that had Tony and Ziva looking at each other and firmly wiping grins off their own faces. Tony wondered if he'd ever wear an expression like that over Ziva, and dealt with it the only way he knew how. He pushed it aside and made some silly joke.

At some point the tracker fell off Tim's car, and although he checked regularly, another one didn't appear. Mari reported that nothing much was going on; she'd been offered a job in Japan, but by a rival of Professor Oshiro, and anyway, if she wanted to leave Switzerland to work permanently in another country, she'd only want to work in the States. Tim's heart beat a little faster when he read that email, wondering if he should read between the lines.

A month went by when they almost forgot about things, then Paul Ware was spotted in Mari's garage again, so NYPD picked him up. Paddy Frame was a good interrogator, but the kid didn't even know the name of the agency, let alone the boss. "So who are you going to go and tell you've been questioned?"

"I get called if they want me to do something…"

"O-kay… the next time you get called, you tell me. You let me know where you're meeting up, and you don't let on that we're there taking photos. That way you stay out of jail. But _we _know who you're working for, even if you don't, and if you tell, we'll know. We'll let them know you're unreliable, and you'll wish you'd chosen jail." He didn't know how accurate he was.

"Did I do right?" he asked Tony when he reported how he'd handled it.

"Oh, yeah. Now I really owe you. Come down to DC and me and McGee'll take you out to lunch."

"Who's McGee? And buying me lunch isn't going to get you out of owing me."

"McGee's our ex-probie. All growed up, and Mari Weiss is his lady. Means a lot to him."

"So it's _him_ that owes me, then.

"No, and don't you go saying anything. He's got enough on his mind. I set this up."

"Fine, DiNo." He laughed, a mixture of good friendship and sadism. "I'll collect from you, then."

"Sure, Paddy. So long,"

As he put the phone down, he realised McGee was standing at his shoulder, close enough to have heard the whole conversation. He didn't even know he was back. Damn – letting your guard down even sitting at your desk is a Bad Idea, DiNozzo.

"So," Tim said, sitting on the edge of Tony's desk, "All the protection for Mari in New York was done as a favour to you?"

"What? No, no, McGee, all I did was convince them that it was necessary."

"Same thing. What did you have to promise him?"

"I have no idea. Look, Tim, it's no big deal. He's a friend, he won't seriously do one over me. It'll be police work. And it's worth it anyway."

Tim stood up again, folded his arms, and looked his friend in the eye. "When it happens," he said flatly, "You involve me. You went out on a limb for me, but you have to know that I wouldn't leave you there." Tony opened his mouth, but Tim cut him off with a finger under his nose and, "And no cracks about coming up the tree after you with a saw. I could be tempted. You ready to go?"

Tony's smile was contented. "Sure, McAxe."

They'd worked out a plan to avoid a tail, and it had gone like clockwork. Tim had put the Porsche in a corner of the parking lot at Dulles, where it could only be observed from one direction. Shortly afterwards, Gill Cooper parked her big GMC alongside, blocking the view. Mari walked round as if to get into Tim's car, but hid in the big vehicle instead. Tim checked yet again for a tracker…yes! Follow me, you fools.

Gill drove off to collect Anne-Marie and Claire, and Tim headed back to the Yard. The boxster went into the NCIS garage, Tony collected a four seater Lexus rental, they picked up Josh, and about an hour after the ladies, they headed for the hotel in Princeton.

They had no idea that, about an hour after that, Gibbs and Ziva followed them.

* * *

The Graduation Ceremony was grand, the setting splendid, and the weather perfect. The new Bachelors, Masters and Doctors and their supporters spilled out onto the green lawns, where photographers, both official and unofficial waited. Josh and Anne-marie, fine in their gowns, had their official shots taken, and then one together. Tim videoed the scene, Gill and Claire beamed with pride and Tony fired off dozens of unofficial group shots. Mari produced a laptop, and set up a video link with her young friend's parents; the two agents kept on recording.

Tony looked at Gill and saw tears in her eyes; he sat her down, hugged her and caught Josh's eye. As the young man and his sister both hurried to their mom's side, the SFA quietly got out of the way and left them to their memories.

From a dorm window, Gibbs and Ziva overlooked the scene, and scanned the crowd, but saw no-one from their files. Having swept all the teams' rooms at the Prince of Denmark earlier and found nothing, they went back to their own more modest hotel and checked in with Abby. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but Gibbs' famous gut still told him they should be vigilant.

"We should be down there, Gibbs," Ziva said with a slight pang in her voice, as they stood on a balcony high above the ballroom that evening. Conservatively dressed, unremarkable, unnoticed, they continued that vigilance, as the gorgeous peacock creatures strutted below.

"Oh, we'd look good, Ziva," the Boss said. "But we're better up here. There'll be other opportunities for you to dress up."

Ziva managed a smile. "It is not like me to have a fit of the girlies, Gibbs."

"Every little girl loves dressing up, Ziva," he said, and now there was a soft edge to _his _voice. They both sighed to themselves, and turned their attention back to the job. They could see their agents, impeccable and stylish, taking their jobs as escorts very seriously. Tony scarcely touched the buffet himself, but made sure that the ladies never had to join the bun-fight themselves. The ladies themselves had clearly done some co-ordinating when choosing their gowns, Ziva noted approvingly.

Gill wore sapphire blue, with a straight, wrap-round skirt, a high, straight slash neck and long, close-fitting sleeves. Mari wore peacock blue a shade lighter, with a halter neck decorated with beads and spangles. Young Claire, in her first ball-gown, wishing her dad could see her, wore silver net over turquoise satin, and at fifteen was already turning heads.

After a couple of hours, during which the two watchers had had to step back from the balcony rail several times when it seemed as if Tony would spot them on one of his periodic scans of the room, the band played a loud, attention-grabbing sting. Three beautiful young oriental ladies in spangled black and purple, came out to join them. One took up a microphone.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We're the Songbirds, I'm Adrienne, these are my sisters, Denise and Carys, and on this very special evening, we'd like to invite you to bring your partners out onto the dance floor."

Gibbs observed with a grin that one of the first to move was Tony. Well, he supposed that being able to dance was one advantage of a Long Island upbringing, and the big man was light and graceful on his feet. He saw Ziva watching, her expression unreadable, as he swept Gillian Cooper round the floor. Josh was about to ask Anne-Marie, but she said something, he smiled broadly, and led his sister out instead. Josh had found himself an exceptional young woman, Gibbs thought.

The girl group was very good, and their clear voices and the catchy songs they chose, tempted more and more dancers out onto the polished marble. After a while, Gibbs turned to Ziva, and said, "Let's go back and check with Abby, I'm not seeing anything here." Ziva was too professional to say 'thank heavens', but it was hard for a girl who'd been a dancer from the time she could toddle to watch some of the inept performances going on down there. They left quietly.

Trouble came without warning. As Tim led Mari back towards their table at the end of a dance, a tall, sandy haired man approached them. He seemed as if he was walking past, but at the last moment, he turned swiftly and jabbed a gun into Tim's side. "Don't move, Special Agent McGee."

"What…?"

The man jabbed him harder. "And don't speak either. Doctor Weiss, step over here if you please… I would like you to accompany us."

"No!" Marianne said, and "No way," Tim said even louder at the same time.

Tony, coming back with Gill, stopped, eyes widening in horror. Piet Veldt! He pulled Claire to her feet, and hissed "Gill, take her away. Now." Gill didn't argue. As she led her daughter across the room, she was looking for her son, but couldn't see him. Tony spotted him coming over with Anne-Marie, and tried to warn him off, but another gun clicked behind him.

"I don't think so," another voice with heavy South African overtones warned.

"Willi Hartig," Tony said, in as laid back a tone as he could muster.

"_What? How do you know – "_

"Keep your mind on the job, you fool," the other man said. "And don't draw attention to us."

"Piet Veldt," Tony said easily. "Proprietor of the agency that's all clean and above board."

"Special Agent DiNozzo," the sandy haired man appeared unsettled for a moment, but then said calmly, "If you don't want a lot of people to die, you really should do as we say."

"And that is?"

"Come with us quietly. You and your colleague, and Doctor Weiss. And those two young people too; they've seen us. We have four others, all armed." Tony and McGee both looked around the room; there were easy to spot people by the entrances, and close by stood a middle-aged guy with a paunch, and the skinny form of Paul Ware. "If you don't co-operate…"

"We won't do anything silly." Tony said very calmly. "But we know who you are; we've been tracking you for weeks, we have people here too."

Veldt believed him for a moment, and glanced round. "They are very well hidden, then."

"Sure they are. NCIS and FBI; like I said – "

"_Oh, my god…_" a woman's scream interrupted him. "He's got a gun!!"

Paul Ware looked down in horror at the butt of the semi-automatic revealed as his jacket had snagged on the back of a chair. People reacted calmly, as they do in such situations; they screamed and began heading for the doors. The main doors were blocked by Veldts men, and running forms collided with the ones in front as they could go no further. The sound of a drum-kit coming to a sticky end warned Piet Veldt, too late, that some of the band had made their escape through the door at the back of the platform; absolutely no gallantry there, the three pretty singers were elbowed out of the way by men twice their size.

At a nod from Veldt the paunchy guy fired a burst into the ceiling from his machine pistol, and everyone froze. "Well," Tony said, "That lets our people outside know you're here, then." The response was quick, and savage. Hartig, closest to Tony, swung his gun, butt first and drove it into the Special Agent's ribs.

"You talk too much."

"He's right though," Tim said, as his friend doubled up and sank to his knees in pain. "They know about you out there now. You've got a hostage situation when you were hoping for a quick kidnap. It can't end well for you, let alone us."

Hartig began to lift his weapon again, but his boss said "Enough," sharply. He looked at the paunchy guy as Tony got back to his feet. "Get them all together in one corner." All the guests, the remnants of the band and the three singers were made to sit on the floor. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you co-operate you'll be safe enough. Just sit still and shut up." Paunchy fired a burst over their heads to let them know what would happen if they didn't. "Derek, go and see if the cellar is still clear."

Paunchy went off, and nobody spoke for a moment. In the silence a voice speaking through a bull horn was heard from outside. The words were indistinguishable. Veldt ignored it, and said smoothly, "Of course we have a way out, it may be a while before they discover it… we must move quickly." Even so, he paused. A nasty look crossed his face. "Just how did you find out about us?"

Two trained agents looked anywhere but at Paul Ware. Marianne simply didn't realise the consequences as she looked straight at him. Veldt sighed. "You're a liability, Paul." He nodded at Hartig, who swung his gun butt again, hard, hitting the skinny youth under the chin, and snapping his head back. Some of the women screamed. Ware didn't hear it, dead from a broken neck before he hit the floor.

"Now, Doctor Weiss, Professor Kashai requests the pleasure of your company."

Marianne's eyes widened. "Tim, he's the man who offered me the job…"

"Apparently you have information that he needs, and will pay well for. You – " he jerked his gun at Tim, "Come along for the ride; you can keep your friends away from us. And you two…" He pointed at Josh and Anne-Marie.

Hartig's eyes were pleased as he looked at Anne-Marie. "Oh, yes," he said pleasantly, moving to grasp her wrist, "We definitely take this one." Neither youngster had said a word up to now, but Josh leapt to his feet and got in front of Hartig.

"You won't touch her," he said, shaky but brave. The gun butt started to swing again, and both Tony and McGee jumped forwards. Tony got there first, deflecting the swing with his shoulder, and getting the downswing along his ribs again.

"Shit," he thought, going to his knees again, "That's exactly the same place." The pain was much worse this time, but now he was down, and no-one was watching him, he could do what he'd started before…he'd moved the back-up gun he always carried strapped to his leg into the back of his waistband when he was down the first time, and now Veldt was reaming out his second in command, he was trying to reach it.

"Keep your mind on the job and out of your trousers. If you jeopardise us I'll kill you." He called the two door guards over and they began to herd Josh and Anne-Marie down the corridor after Paunchy. Tony pushed himself up and began to bring the gun round, but Veldt turned back to him. "Not you," he said calmly, "You'd hold us up." He shot him in the chest.

**AN: I wrote you a nice long chapter; please review it???**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: There are three separate strands in this chapter; Tony's recollections, Tony in the present, and Gibbs catching up to the present. Tim's story will be told in its own time… The past I've italicised, but I've not put dividers in.**

**Helmsley Lodge is a figment!**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 9

The trouble with deciding not to die… is being alive. I'm not floating any more… not even sure if I'm delirious… is this _now_ pain… or do I remember it? Aaah… it's now… make it stop, make it stop… don't think it hurt so much then… He suppressed a sob and searched his memory. I remember… I remember getting up… didn't know how then… don't know now…

_He'd grimaced inwardly_ _at the tiny little revolver when he'd first seen it, aimed at McGee; small enough to be hidden in the inside pocket of a Tux, big enough to do damage at close range. He didn't feel hugely damaged for someone who'd just been shot in the chest… or low in the shoulder…_

You've had this debate before…what does it matter? Well… the doctor said chest… but he took it out under local… heh… you wouldn't let him knock you out…teeny tiny slugs can't hurt a DiNozzo… oh, yeah? Isn't that a Dinozzo I see lying in that bed? … Feeling lousy? _Dying _a minute ago? Keep still, stop thrashing your head about like a stranded fish… god, it hurts, it _hurts…_ But he knew he was the most conscious he'd been for a while… hang on to that…hang on… the light-in-the-ceiling's starting to wobble again… don't look… aaahh… how long…

_He'd staggered to his feet, picking up his own tiny little back-up weapon on the way, and lurched off in pursuit, bouncing off the walls in his haste. He almost laughed when he finally got to the cellar door. __**A caterer's van? How B movie was that? **__McGee looked back on that odd lucky chance that sometimes happens in the midst of mayhem, and their eyes met. His eyes began to widen, but he caught himself an instant later, and looked away. Tony shrank back out of sight, but nobody had caught the look. Good… hang on, McGee, now you know we'll come for you… he memorised the plate, but didn't know how long the memory would survive…_

_Veldt slammed the back doors, ran round to the front, yelling, "Helmsley Lodge. Now! No time to –" as he jumped into the van Tony couldn't hear the rest of it, but he bet it was something about changing vehicles… hey… now all he had to do was get back to Gibbs and tell him… as he struggled up the stairs from the cellar, he tried to open his phone, but one hand held his gun, the other was slippery with blood. The tiny instrument slipped from his fingers and went bouncing back down the stairs, until it started losing bits, and didn't bounce any more. The wounded man looked down mournfully for a moment, then went on his way, shedding a tear for a fallen comrade._

Gibbs and Ziva huddled side by side looking (peering in Gibbs' case,) at their laptop, on the screen of which Abby was doing the energizer bunny thing in her usual way.

"Stop bouncing, Abbs, it's ten oclock at night," Gibbs said. It made him squint just looking at her.

"But Gibbs… I have to stay awake, I'm your official co-ordinator!"

Ziva intervened gently. "So, Abby, do you have anything to co-ordinate?"

"Well… Paddy Frame, you know, Tony's NYPD friend –"

"Yes, Abby."

"Oh. Yes. Well, he reported that various heavies had been seen around 'Fixers' over the last few days, and today Paul Ware was seen leaving town fast… but he could have been running away."

Gibbs snorted. It was very likely… but that word 'heavies' was alarming, even though there were many things thugs might be required for.

"NYPD called back just before you did; they were able to supply one name; they recognised one guy, Derek Pool, convictions for assault, and I'm just running him through facial recognition from our airport tapes. Be done soon."

"We should go back," Gibbs said unhappily. We should never have left."

Ziva pushed down a pang of guilt; she had wondered if it would have been better to stay, but she'd been so glad to get away she'd not argued the point. When she'd managed to tear her eyes away from Tony, tall and elegant and skilled, the standard of dancing in general had made her want to be doing anything but enduring the sight.

"Mmm…" Abby nodded. "One more thing, and it may be nothing… but I started looking for things to do, and I thought I'd check on everyone I could who I knew had shown any interest in Mari lately… Professor Kashai is currently in the USA, he arrived from Kyoto this morning. He's in Princeton, Gibbs."

"Let's go, Ziva." They picked up guns and jackets, just as a ping came from the laptop, and they turned back to look. "That was a match, right?" Abby nodded, eyes huge. They tore out of the room without a goodbye, leaving the forensics expert staring at the empty screen. She shook herself, and called Ducky.

Even in the big black car that shouted 'FED!' they didn't get more than a few blocks before the traffic snarled up. Gibbs didn't know whether to steam with frustration or be seriously alarmed, so he did both. How had his gut let him down so badly? It was clear now that something was going down, and he wasn't there for his guys; and there was no reason for him not to be but misjudgement.

His phone chirped: Vance.

"Gibbs, where are you?"

"On our way to the hotel, why?"

"Glad you're not in there. They've got a hostage situation…"

As the two agents ran, Ziva still managed to talk. "I know what you are thinking… this is _not_ your fault… we did _not _have the information; if Abby had had it before we went back to check in, she would have called us…" She paused to draw breath; Gibbs was too busy running to answer. "And because we are not in there, we can do something from out here… will the Director speak to the local officers?"

They paused to confront the officers at the cordon; neither one gave any outward sign of being out of breath. Moments later they were inside the building.

_He bet himself that the partygoers wouldn't have moved. Hartig had been the one to fire over their heads this time. Wall plaster and shattered light fittings had rained down, and those not already lying on the floor soon were. "You don't move if you know what's good for you. In five minutes or less there'll be a SWAT team in here, and they shoot at anything that moves."_

_Gill would have a cell phone… No, not Gill; he looked down at the blood all over his Del Siena evening shirt, and he didn't want her to see him like this. Claire, even less. Better a stranger…_

_He leaned against the wall as he came up the corridor towards the ballroom; mustering up the strength to walk in calmly and not frighten anyone. There came a couple of loud explosions from up ahead, and the sound of breaking glass. Ah, the Swatties, bless them… Well, if anyone were on their feet, that would be enough to put them down again. He was glad he was leaning on the wall, or even in the passage, the blast would have put him on the floor. As it was, it sent waves of pain buffeting through him, and he allowed himself a miserable little whimper, since there wasn't anyone to hear._

I didn't want to drop that gun…. I don't know why… was no use to me… how was I going to tell Gill… let them get away with Josh… hurts… then hurt or now hurt? Damned if I know….

_He started off again, looking at the bloody streak he'd left on the wall, holding the gun in both hands, but pointing it at the floor… and a few moments later, karma was getting him for thinking unkind thoughts about the Swatties. _

_If the punches to the gut weren't enough, then maybe the bruised knuckles from having his gun wrenched out of his hands would be enough to atone. No? OK, then, having his bruised and quite possibly cracked ribs, and his bullet occupied chest… shoulder…(again, DiNozzo, what the hell, why are you so hung up about this – a bullet wound to brag about later is only cool the first time you get one, and you could even be remembering that wrong…) pushed into the carpet, and his arms yanked behind him? No, karma still wanted a heavy boot on his shoulder, a knee in his back… _

_Maybe it was the light-headedness, the loss of blood that made him mouth off at them… maybe it was simply that it was what he always did when he encountered idiots… but he would have admitted to being at the end of his rope just then, if anyone had asked. He didn't think he could take any more pain, and let everything drift for a moment, when, of all things, he thought he could hear Gibbs' voice. Ridiculous. Wishful thinking. Gibbs was in Washington…_

_Of course he wasn't. Where else would he be but here? Gibbs knew everything…_

It's Poppa Bear… hear him roar… no, that was then… Abby, you're right… he has magic powers… he knows… knows I need him now, but he can't come… save McGee, Boss… McLionheart… remember… small muscles… well… not _that_ small… but he can't do it alone, Boss… can I just float for a bit… please…

_The hands that uncuffed and turned him were gentle, unlike the enraged voice .He opened his eyes, realising he'd had then screwed tight shut. The Boss was looking down at him, as near to anxious as he was ever likely to look, and moments later Ziva was there… and Gillian Cooper. So much for not wanting… He gasped out his message, but breathing was difficult flat on his back, and once again he let things drift…_

_When he opened his eyes again, he realised that Gibbs was cradling him in his arms. That's a first… he almost burst into tears. Then his eyes widened, and he sat up with a jerk, or would have, if Gibbs had let him. "Helmsley Lodge!"he said urgently._

"_Helmsley Lodge? What's that?"_

"_I don't know. But it's where they've taken them. I followed… I heard them."_

"_Anyone know what Helmsley Lodge is?" He glared hopefully at the SWAT leader, but he shook his head. He had a lot of explaining to do, and wasn't looking forward to it._

_One of the young singers got up. Tony's vision had cleared sufficiently by now to see that the three girls had been huddled round Claire, clearly trying to comfort her. Adrienne, the eldest sister, came over timidly, trying not to goggle at the gory sight of the wounded man. ('He was so __**handsome,**__ Mom,' she said later. Tony never got to know about that.) "It's a house on the west side of the campus at the University," she explained shyly. "It's made into apartments so that Professors who are only here part time have somewhere to stay. My Mom's the administrator of the apartments."_

_Ziva drew her to one side. "Tell us everything you can," she said reassuringly._

_Tony looked at Gibbs. "Go on, then," he said softly…_

Ah…Tony… He was right, Gibbs knew. McGee needed him, and Ziva; there were five of them, DiNozzo had said, ruthless enough to kill one of their own, and Tim had three others to protect. There could be others with guns at the apartment… he had to leave Tony, with all his abandonment fears, to the mercy of strangers. He couldn't even ask Gill to stay; she, and Claire, would want to be where Josh was.

Paramedics were approaching; about time. Gibbs laid his surrogate son back on the ground, and put a finger under his chin. "I'll be back."

Tony's face lit up. A _movie _quote from the Boss? "I know," he said after a pause where he was quite sure they both swallowed. "But you need to go first." Gibbs stood up, and glared again at the SWAT leader.

"I expect _you _to make sure that he gets the best medical care in the city," he said, then stormed off to demand a fast car from the lieutenant in charge, since they'd had to abandon theirs by the roadside. Barraclough was not the most tactful of men when under pressure, but he'd had time to reflect, wasn't pleased with what he'd heard so far about his SWAT team, and was in a mood to be conciliatory.

"Follow me," the iron-grey veteran said, "and fill me in on the way. You'll likely need some back up. My city after all… joint operation, you in charge." Gibbs grunted an affirmative, which was polite in the circumstances, he'd been wondering how to get support without asking for it; and although he hadn't forgotten the lieutenant's earlier dismissiveness, he figured he'd read the man about right. Wasn't his own way of doing things never to apologise? He and Ziva both followed Barraclough, firmly pushing aside thoughts of the wounded man they were leaving behind, to concentrate on the one they were going to find.

So… here I am… wherever this is… Isn't this where I came in? Gibbs will come… he came then… surprised I remember it all… so damn clearly… that bit about him cradling me like that… I didn't make that up… did I? He _will_ come… Make it soon, Boss… I really don't feel good… I just want to know they're safe… For freaks sake, DiNozzo, you're like a bloody broken record… get some backbone…

Voices… first ones I've heard… Boss… what's that…

"_What the __**hell**__ is going on here???"_

**AN: Short by comparison with the last blooming epic, but I want to get Tim's P.O.V. in next. Thanks for all the kind reviews… I appreciate every one.**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: The nasty electrodes device that Mari describes is based on information I acquired some years ago, when I had a young epilepsy sufferer in my class; I'm sure things have moved on from then. I hope so.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 10

Tim was glad that Hartig was driving. He'd seen the way that he looked at Anne-Marie, and knew that Josh was not going to stand for him touching her; which meant that Josh was going to get hurt unless he could protect him. Hartig had a gun, and Josh didn't. Tim repressed a grin firmly. Mari had one… not that she knew about it.

After that moment when he locked eyes with Tony, and felt a surge of joy that the SFA wasn't lying bleeding to death, things had moved quickly. The two heavies had thrown Josh and his lady into the back of the truck; Anne-Marie had tripped on the hem of her silver gown and gone sprawling. Josh went to help her, and was shoved down after her.

Tim had been reviewing his options all through the march down through the hotel's underworld, and when he and Marianne were pushed in after the youngsters, he made sure that as they landed, his right leg was covered by her long skirt. Her purse was close to his elbow, and he nudged it under her skirt too. Veldt was, of all things, berating his goons for treating the women roughly, and Tim made a mental note of that; it wasn't being said for the benefit of the hostages.

"Yeah," Hartig said, "You treat that pretty little thing nicely."

Josh began to sit up angrily, but Tim shook his head, "It's OK," and pushed him back down, as Hartig was silenced instantly by a furious tirade in Afrikaans from Veldt. Tim didn't know if it was another 'keep your mind on the job' warning, or, as he suspected, more. He turned his attention back to what he was planning.

The three in the front were watching the road; the two in the back were hanging onto the storage racks that the van's interior was fitted with, and looking out of the rear windows for signs of pursuit. It was dark outside, so inside the van such light as there was, was very dim. Tim reached under the spangled crepe across his legs, feigning a grimace of pain in case anyone was looking; he couldn't believe, as his hand closed over the butt of his back-up gun, that nobody had checked if he was carrying. He guessed that when the situation had changed from a quick kidnapping, as he'd said, time became of the essence.

Did he really think that mouthful?

'_Well it is, McVerbosity,'_ he heard Tony's voice, _'so get a move on.'_ He was pretty certain that he _would _be checked for a weapon as soon as the chance came, so it was vital to get rid of it. Looking as if he were rubbing a bruised shin, he silently unclasped Mari's purse; it was just large enough to accommodate the tiny Glock. He pushed it in, closed the bag, and rubbed his shin for a few more minutes.

He realised that Mari was watching him curiously. There was fear in her eyes, but no panic. She was calm, and attentive. Josh was holding Anne-Marie tightly in his arms; she was biting her bottom lip and trying to stay calm; she had seen Tony, who she, like Josh, thought the world of, shot down, which was bad enough, and she also knew what Hartig had on his mind. Josh's eyes were mad; they'd have to go through him to get her. Tim looked round at them all. "Stay calm," he said softly, sitting up slowly and keeping his hands in sight.

He put his arm round Marianne, and put his lips against her ear. "Sweetheart," he began softly, but she put her finger on his lips.

"It's OK, Liebchen… I _know_. It'll be all right." She casually retrieved her purse, and slung the spaghetti strap over her shoulder as if it were no big deal.

Their captors paid them almost no attention at all as the van bounced and crunched its way through the city. They huddled together in the semi-darkness, and Tim murmured, "Guys, you should know… but don't react…Tony's alive."

Three pairs of eyes widened, but they all managed to say nothing. Giving them good news, he hoped, was good for keeping their spirits up. Josh finally said, very softly, "Maybe he could tell them…"

"Shh… yes. He will have done."

The glow of street lighting turned from orange to white, and Josh frowned. "This looks like…" the van came to a halt, and the back doors opened. "Princeton," Josh finished, meaning the University, not the town.

"Get out," Veldt said, "and stand still." He patted McGee down. "Hmm," he said. "Don't want to spoil the cut of your Tux, huh?" He felt around the agent's legs, and said sharply, "What's this?" He pushed up Tim's trouser leg, knowing that what he'd felt was an empty holster. "Where is your gun?" He levelled his own weapon, still the small calibre one he'd used earlier, indicating that he wanted an answer, now.

Tim's look was level, and almost challenging; he kept it just short of provocative. The guy seemed to have a moral code where women were concerned, but was quite prepared to shoot a man in cold blood. And McGee hadn't forgotten Paul Ware, either. He wanted to know more about what made the man tick… it was what Gibbs or Tony would have done.

"DiNozzo had it. It was the one he was trying to get at, when you gunned him down, remember? When he was already on the floor." There was some sort of flicker of reaction there, instantly replaced by coldness. The man could be ruthless, and then feel… guilt, was it? "He couldn't get to his; when he was down the first time I stood close, he grabbed mine. He put it in his back waistband."

Be specific when you lie. The elements of truth in the story were enough to be convincing, and Tim made sure his face didn't change when the story was accepted. "Necessary," Veldt said indifferently, but if he was indifferent why say anything? "Go," he added tersely, nudging them towards the front door of the large house that was clearly Helmsley Lodge. It was all in darkness except for the entrance hall and one area on the second storey.

As they walked towards the door, Tim saw a flash of white on the ground in the bottom of an ornamental shrub. At first he thought it was litter, and then he realised what it was, and his heart leapt. It was a large Starbucks coffee cup. A message that only he would understand. Tony had come through for them… so he must be OK… and_ Gibbs was here._ It didn't make him feel invincible, but it went a long way. He took Marianne's hand, and she made a show of moving close to him, pressing her side against his so he could feel the gun in her handbag.

Josh and Anne-Marie preceded them up the stairs to the next level; Willi Hartig watched them all the way up. Josh squared his shoulders belligerently although he said nothing. Tim watched uneasily; this was something he had to stop before it went any further. The young South African thug was enjoying frightening Anne-Marie. He stood still and looked Veldt in the eyes. If the man had the ghost of a scruple, as Tim suspected… "You wear a wedding ring," he said. "Do you have children?"

Veldt frowned in puzzlement, until he realised Tim's drift. "They are hardly more than children themselves," he said. "I will not allow Willi to hurt her."

"Then call him off," Tim said softly. "What's the point in frightening the poor girl? Unless you're planning to kill us all?"

"Not unless I have to. Now shut up. Willi, go and dump the van somewhere; we should never have brought it here if we'd had the choice." The second in command shot his leader a very dirty look, but clearly didn't dare argue.

Tim's heart leapt almost as much as it had done when he'd seen Tony, or that coffee cup… that, he was certain, was Hartig dealt with. Isolated, he'd be taken out by Gibbs as soon as he left the building. Tim decided to try to listen for the sound of the van being driven away; if he didn't hear it, it was reasonable to think that the driver had been taken. He just hoped Veldt didn't think the same way.

That left four, plus whoever the Professor had with him. _'And don't forget,' _it was Gibbs he heard this time so he didn't even have to find himself a name mutilation, _'the ex-mercenary won't be easy to deal with.'_ Yeah, Boss, I know.

His heart sank again, as they were ushered into a sitting room; the man who was clearly Professor Kashai had two goons of his own; by the cut of their suits, they were both armed. Six, then, and possibly the prof.

"Good evening, Doctor Weiss, and friends;" Kashai said, with a slight, formal bow. "I regret that things are a little cramped; I was not expecting so many guests." His glare at Veldt was restrained as befitted a good host, but pointed nevertheless.

As the four hostages were pushed down onto a sofa only designed for three, Veldt said, "Derek, go guard the door." The overstuffed guy nodded, left, and closed the door behind him. Tim smiled inwardly; another one who'd be taken care of. He noted carefully the positions of everyone else. As he did so, Mari reached into her purse for a handkerchief, and then put it down at her side. A few moments later the Glock was in Tim's jacket pocket without anyone having seen a thing.

The Professor smiled at Mari as if they were at a University soiree. "Marianne, my dear, are you not wondering why you are here?"

Mari was withering, and Tim felt proud. "Your heavies told me that I have information that you will pay well for. Perhaps you'd better tell me what that information is? You seem to know – I don't."

"Of course you do. The mind helmet…"

"The_ mind helmet?_"

Kashai went on as if she hadn't spoken. "For the control of aircraft in flight… the targeting of weaponry… so many functions… I know that you have been working on this with Professor Oshiro, and that you are researching the development of this into a device no bigger than a hearing aid. I offered you a very well paid job, Marianne, so that you would bring your knowledge with you… but you rejected it, so now I must insist, for your own sake, and the sake of the other guests you have brought me, that you tell me what you know."

Marianne stood up and invaded the man's personal space. Tim glanced at Josh, who hadn't said a word, but hadn't stopped watching either. Kashai actually took a step back. "Very well," Mari said obligingly, "I'll tell you everything I know. The mind helmet doesn't exist, not even as a prototype, to my knowledge. Ken Oshiro isn't working on it. We've been trying to develop a medical device…" she looked at Tim, and explained.

"Sometimes, in the treatment of epilepsy, it's necessary to record a person's brain emissions for a week or more at a time. This currently means that either they wear a cumbersome helmet, or have the skin of the skull scraped and electrodes applied; which they then have to walk round with for a week. Ken's spent a lot of his life researching and developing good EEG technology; he wants to make something small enough to plug in a patient's ear; make life less difficult. Epilepsy sufferers have things tough enough as it is." She glared defiantly. "That's it, Professor Kashai, come back to the real world."

Tim was certain she spoke the truth; he'd have bet that everyone else in the room believed her, except the Professor. His face twisted, and Tim thought two words; unhinged, obsessed. Their lives were all in danger for _this_? Kashai signalled to his goons. One pushed Mari down into one of the armchairs, the other brought a small black case over, set it down on the coffee table and opened it. He removed a Velcro tourniqet and put it on Mari's arm, as the Professor removed a hypodermic.

"I was afraid you might take that attitude," he said. Tim thought that if Tony were here he'd have half a dozen mad scientist movie references to annoy the man with. "Everyone likes to protect their secrets, of course."

Oh, no way, Tim thought, scarcely listening as the man began to extol the uses of truth serum. He remembered Tony, courageous and clinging on to normality by the skin of his teeth in that room in Somalia. (With typical McGee diffidence he didn't think anything of his own courage that day.) Nobody was going to put any of that filth into Mari's brain. He looked at Josh, and at the case, then, gun in hand, with a roar of warning that he was surprised to hear coming from himself, he leapt at the Professor.

He knocked the needle out of his grasp, and smashed the gun against the side of his head as his momentum carried them both to the floor. He saw Josh knock the case off the table and stomp on it, then as one of the professor's goons turned towards him, the young man did the only thing he could think of and dived for the guy's knees, bringing him down with a crash.

Tim rolled over, looking for the most dangerous man in the room, remembering where he'd been; Veldt was bringing his gun up with an odd look of respect on his face. He fired once. Tim didn't give him the same respect as he thought of his gunned down partner, and fired three shots off, centre body mass. The door crashed open as the Special Agent tried to work out where the next threat would come from, but his arm hurt and he felt a bit light headed. He wasn't sure if he'd dropped his gun.

He saw Josh straddling one of the Japanese heavies, and could have cheered as Anne-Marie hit the guy over the head with a table lamp. He saw Gibbs take out one of Veldt's men with a snapped headshot; then the other, while Ziva ran up the back of the sofa and drop kicked the other Japanese bodyguard in the gut. Mari, rather wild-eyed, snatched up Tim's fallen gun, and aimed it at the three Japanese men, all of whom were moving feebly, until Ziva gently took it from her hand, as the small room overfilled with police officers. It was all over.

Marianne knelt beside Tim. "Liebchen…" Ziva brought her some clean tea-towels as she pulled the jacket carefully from his right arm.

"'M fine," he muttered, as she used the towels to put pressure on the deep gouge in his triceps muscle, "It's just a scratch" Gibbs looked down at the four young people sitting on the carpet, their splendid evening clothes in various states of disrepair, and shook his head. He came round the sofa and squatted in front of his agent.

"Fine is a DiNozzo word, McGee. And one DiNozzo on the team is quite enough."

"Understood, Boss."

"Nice work, Tim."

Gibbs looked at Josh and Anne-Marie. "You two OK? Good. There's a squad car outside, your Mom and Claire are in it." Josh's grin was huge as he leapt up. "See if you can give your statements before you go, then get them to take you back to the hotel, and you're done with this."

"Uh-oh," Josh said. "We'll come to the hospital." He and Anne-Marie raced out.

Gibbs looked back at McGee, quite comfortable all things considered, secure in Mari's arms. McGee looked back at him.

"Tony?"

"Sent me after you. Hell, you'll probably end up in adjacent beds."

Tim smiled. "That was a good idea with the coffee cup, Boss."

"Coffee cup?"

"Yeah… I knew Tony'd come through for us… I knew you'd be there, so whatever _I_ did, you'd back me up… When I saw that coffee cup right by the front door, I _knew_ you were there… made the odds look less… made me feel better…"

"McGee, I didn't leave a coffee cup by the front door."

Tim giggled. "Yes you did… a Starbucks large…"

"I didn't." The Boss looked at him fondly.

"Oh…" Tim was still giggling when he passed out.

**AN: I really struggled with that action sequence. Tim fans… I really hope you liked…**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: I did research the medical stuff, did my best…**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 11

Lieutenant Barraclough took on the police work; "You do the work, you get the credit," Gibbs had said. "I've got two hurt agents to see to. I'll leave your SWAT team up to you." That was more than he could have hoped for, Barraclough thought, although he knew that the grizzly bear Fed with the bad haircut would be expecting him to do something. Oh, he would, he would…

Mari went in the ambulance with Tim; Gibbs and Ziva got a lift back to the car they'd abandoned and headed for the hospital, where Mari greeted them with some anxiety. Gibbs put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, ssh… what's wrong? Is Tim OK?"

"Tim's fine, Gibbs… or, he will be. They're going to clean the wound and stitch it, and give him some blood; I can see him as soon as they're done… nobody seems to know anything about Tony… and nobody seems to want to find out. They look at me with the blood on my dress and they assume I'm in shock; they keep asking me if I'm hurt and if I want to see a doctor, but they won't _listen_."

"They'll listen to me," Gibbs said ominously.

"Come and sit down, Marianne," Ziva said. "I think you _are _a little bit in shock, and I know you will feel better when you can see Tim again, but you need to rest a little. I will get you something to drink, and Gibbs will find out about Tony."

"Anthony DiNozzo," Gibbs was saying patiently (for him) to the woman at the ER admission desk. "Admitted about an hour ago. Gunshot wound, upper thorax. A Federal Agent, injured in the line of duty. Shouldn't be difficult to find."

"How d'you spell it?" Gibbs was still patient…he spelled _very_ slowly. "Oh… there's a Deano… that must be it… they must have spelled it wrong." She gave him a bright, empty smile. "I've only just come on duty." He didn't know it, but he was going to hear that a lot tonight. "Room 220. Up one flight, turn left." Thankful for small mercies, Gibbs went back to Ziva.

"I will stay with Mari, Gibbs, until she can be with Tim, then I will come and find you." Ziva spoke before he could ask her. He appreciated her thoughtfulness, he knew she was keen to reassure herself about Tony, but her assessment of Marianne had been right. Brave as the young Swiss woman had shown she was, she didn't need to be left alone just at that moment. Gibbs squeezed Ziva's shoulder briefly, and said, "Room 220", and disappeared towards the stairs.

There was an elderly man sleeping peacefully in 220, smiling in some pleasant dream. At least someone was happy. "I'm sorry," the nurse at the nearest station said. "We've just changed shifts, I've only just come on duty. Let me see…" She tapped her computer. "DiNozzo…" she sighed. "Looks like they spelled his name wrong in emergency." She tapped a correction as she told Gibbs, "Apparently a bullet was removed, upper left quadrant, under local anaesthetic, the patient was given a transfusion and a light sedative, was sleeping peacefully and making good progress when brought up to his room. Room 202. The wing on the right at the end of the corridor. The nurses on station there will help you."

Gibbs nodded his thanks and set off again. The nurses on station at rooms 200 to 214 were chatting comfortably; one was showing off what was clearly a new engagement ring. Their response to Gibbs' enquiry was a blank, "But there's nobody in room 202." One of them pointed to the card slot beside the door; there was nothing in it. For some reason, instead of the fury he would have expected, Gibbs suddenly felt absolutely sick.

He strode across and flung the door open, and the sight of his _kid _plastered in sweat, drenched in it, writhing feebly, attached to empty drips and the call button out of reach made him stop momentarily in his tracks, so that the two nurses almost cannoned into him.

"We thought the room was empty…"

"We've only just come on duty…"

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

The roar made the sick man's head snap up, although it drooped again immediately. His eyes opened, glassy green and struggling to focus, and he attempted to reach his right hand out as Gibbs got to his side in two long strides. "Tony…"

"Knew you'd come, Boss…" The gravelly whisper was barely audible. "McGee?"

Gibbs held the struggling hand between both of his own. His SFA clung to him like a lifeline. "Easy, son, ssh, easy…they're all safe…"

"You… you're not just saying that…"

"You know me better than that, DiNozzo. McGee was a hero."

The smile that lit Tony's white face was followed instantly by a grimace of pain. "That's my Probie… aah… ow, Boss…"

"Hold on, Tony, it'll be OK, I'll get help… just lie still." The hand was hot with fever, and the SFA's neck and arms bore a gritty red rash. Gibbs stroked his hair soothingly; he didn't know if it worked, but that sort of physical contact usually seemed to ground Tony.

One nurse was already running out of the room, saying, "I'll call Doctor Rankin."

"You do that. Ya want to explain to me," he fixed the other nurse with a baleful stare, "How my agent comes into hospital and I find him _worse _than when I last saw him?"

The nurse couldn't give him an answer, but to be fair, she went about what she had to do swiftly and efficiently, until a small, determined looking Asian woman in perhaps her early forties ran in. She would have been pretty, Gibbs thought, but for bone deep exhaustion that dragged her features down. Her name tag said she was Dr. Di Chow. Gibbs spoke before the weariness really registered, then regretted it.

"Don't tell me," he said snarkily, "You've only just come on duty."

The doctor gave him a brief, hard glare, before turning her attention entirely to her patient, clearly gravely ill. "No," she said shortly. "I was just going _off _ duty, in cardio… when they told me that Dr Rankin hasn't shown up for duty here." She winced as she withdrew the thermometer the nurse had put in Tony's mouth. "Help me to sit him up," she snapped at the nurse, "I want this gown off so I can look at the wound."

It was Gibbs, however, who said softly, "Gonna lift you a bit, Tony," and began to raise the patient; the doctor gave him another hard look but didn't try to stop him, and Tony slumped against him, as the pillow he'd been lying on came up with him, and slowly peeled off his back. There was a patch of weepy discharge on it. As they tried to remove the gown, it stuck to the back of Tony's right shoulder; he hissed softly with pain as they sponged it off.

"What _is _this?" Dr. Chow asked, quiet but very angry. The mottled rash covered Tony's back and shoulders, and where they had sponged the gown away was a swollen area of raw, abraded skin, horribly inflamed, discharging nasty stuff.

Gibbs glanced at it in revulsion, the former Marine who'd seen a lot of nastiness in his time, and looked at her anxiously; 'help my boy' unspoken but clear on his face. He waited for her to explain to him. She threw the soiled pillow across the room angrily. "Fetch a clean one," she snapped. The gown followed. "Get rid of them. Bring me a gram of intravenous Amoxicillin, and a magnifying glass. Oh, and pass me that tumbler."

The nurse scurried across with it, as Tony lay against his Boss's shoulder, suffering silently, and trusting Gibbs, and this nicely bossy lady, to rescue him from this misery. The doctor pressed the tumbler against the rash on the patient's back and it stayed, although the surrounding skin whitened. "Rapid onset Septicaemia," she whispered to Gibbs.

"Blood poisoning?" Gibbs hissed back.

"We can fix this," the doctor said firmly. "If we move fast." To the nurse she barked, "Are you capable of drawing blood?"

"Yes, doctor," the nurse said meekly.

When she had done so, she was told to get it to the lab as quickly as possible. "Tell them I want the results _now._ They can phone them through to the nurses station." She injected the large dose of broad spectrum antibiotic through the canula into Tony's hand, and picked up the lens. She peered very closely at the infected area, and said, "Glass. And God knows what. What does this look like to you? The shape of the surrounding bruising?"

Gibbs didn't need to look twice. "A boot," he said shortly.

"Oh, yeah…" Tony muttered vaguely, "Those nice SWAT guys…"

Dr. Chow looked at Gibbs. "I thought that Mr. DiNozzo was a federal agent? Then why…"

"The SWAT team beat up first and asked questions later," Gibbs explained as they laid Tony down again. "Whatever's in that wound came off the sole of one of their boots. His jacket should have protected him; I guess it came off his shoulder when they put him on the floor. He'd already been shot by then."

The doctor's shocked brown eyes met his again, briefly, then she pulled the dressing off the bullet wound. "Mmm," she said, "This is becoming infected too, but the antibiotic I've just given you will take care of that, Mr. DiNozzo."

"Tony…"

"Fine, Tony, I'm Di. I'm just going to leave Nurse Francis to sponge you down to cool you a little. I'll be right back." She led Gibbs out of the room.

He began to speak, but she held a hand up. "I know you're mad, so am I. But please listen… First things first. Are you his father?"

Gibbs winced. "It feels like it. I'm his boss… and yes, he's like a son to me," he admitted quietly. "I'm his medical proxy. And doctor… I simply wanted to… apologise for my remark…" If DiNozzo could hear me, he thought, he'd faint.

"I've had worse. You're worried; it's understood. Now, as long as I treat that wound fairly aggressively, I'm pretty certain we caught it in time."

"Pretty certain? His life's in danger?" Gibbs was shocked, even having seen Tony's condition.

"Not now I'm here," the doctor said flatly. "He was on the edge of toxic shock when you discovered him, but the Amoxicillin will have started to take effect right away. Nurse Francis is working on bringing his temperature down, and as soon as I know what the infection is, I can administer specific meds. I'm going to have to knock him out, because that wound needs a thorough cleaning, and on top of the pain he's already in, it would be too much. I need your permission for that procedure."

Gibbs nodded. "You got it. But –"

"Some major mistakes have already happened, and I'm not about to make one. They should have given him an antibiotic right away;" she had walked over to the nurses station computer and was studying Tony's notes, "and there's no mention that they did." She paused for a moment as she read. "I only knew what I heard over my cell phone as I ran… but no, they didn't… there's no mention of the wound on his back, which means they didn't look. I saw some nasty bruising on his ribs just now, there's no mention of an x-ray. I'll take care of that."

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked sickly.

"He was left unattended; the two nurses on duty are good girls, but both inexperienced, they really should have checked every room as soon as they came on; and they should then have read all the active case files for their wing. If they'd done that they'd have known not to take any notice of the lack of a card."

The little firecracker doctor was simmering, and Gibbs didn't doubt that at least now DiNozzo was in good hands. She tapped a few keys, and a printer began to produce the necessary form. "Which they'd have known to do if Doctor Rank-in-bloody-competence had shown up to tell them so. I'll be taking this further; what you decide to do about it is up to you, Special Agent Gibbs; my first concern –"

"And mine,"

"Is Tony. When the wound has been treated, I'll have him moved up to the High Dependency Unit, where we can monitor every minute of his treatment; but I wouldn't expect him to be in there more than twenty-four hours." She handed Gibbs the form; he signed, and they went back to Tony.

"Hey… Boss… it already hurts a bit less… guess my penguin suit's ruined…"

"You and McGee both…"

"But… you said…

"He's fine, Tony – he got winged… but he's got Marianne holding his hand. By the way, you were a hero too."

"Ah. Er… right. Is… er… is Ziva here?"

"Sure… I left her in charge. She'll be here when you wake up."

"Wake up?"

Di Chow spoke. "I'm going to send you to sleep, Tony; while I dig the muck out of your shoulder. When you wake up, you will most certainly feel better. I don't want you to have a fit when you find yourself in Intensive Care; I'm just sending you up there for round the clock monitoring. We need to get your temperature down."

"Oh… can Nurse Francis… come too?"

Fortunately the sedative that had just been put into the canula sent him off to birdland before the doctor needed to answer.

Gibbs looked at his agent's sleeping face, free from lines of torment for the first time.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Di. You might not want to watch this… I'm sure you've seen plenty in your time, but I'm going to use a preparation that bubbles like a witch's brew, to float the muck out, it's not nice."

Gibbs felt the doctor probably wanted to be trusted, given what had already happened.

"I'll go and see how my other agent is," he said tactfully, then added mordantly, "I left him in the Emergency Room."

Di Chow smiled wryly. "I'll let you know when Tony's settled," she said. Gibbs smiled his thanks and left; as he walked slowly back down the corridor, composing himself, he heard a familiar clumping. He turned the corner.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs…..!"

"Ah, Jethro!"

**AN: I promised to start making him better. Review, please?**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I know there's a split infinitive in this chapter… people don't worry about grammar when they're a bit cross.**

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 12

"You can see him now," the ER doctor had said, and Marianne had shot to her feet. "We've moved him to Recovery, cubicle 2, he –"She was gone.

Ziva said, "Thank you, Doctor. Would you mind telling me how he is instead? I am his team-mate and friend, and more likely to remember the details. Our team leader will want to know about him; he is visiting another member of the team who was hurt."

"Ah," the doctor said, "Yes… I was hoping to get away to see that patient as soon as things were quieter here… he should really not have been sent out of recovery and up to the wards so soon. I'd like to check on him… Well, Special Agent McGee will make a complete recovery. The wound is a crease, three inches long, we have cleaned it thoroughly, stitched it and given him a course of antibiotics. We also gave him a blood transfusion as a precaution; he was somewhat light-headed, which we felt indicated that he'd lost more than he thought he had. We also checked him over for other injuries, but apart from a few bruises, he's fine"

He looked over at the four people in evening dress who'd been sitting with the agent he was speaking to, and who were listening avidly. "Once the transfusion is finished, and if he feels up to it, Mr. McGee can be discharged; with conditions. First, that he's not left alone; I mean, he must rest the arm, and how good is he at taking medication?"

"Oh, Tim's not the one we have the problems with, he's sensible, and if he were not, Marianne would deal with it."

The doctor smiled and nodded. "That's the sort of care I was hoping he'd get. Second, that he checks in with his General Practitioner when he gets back to DC; and third, that he arranges to have a course of mild physiotherapy to help the muscle to recover."

"We will take care of all that, Doctor."

He could see that she meant it, and beamed. "Splendid. Er… Marianne, did you say? 's partner? Do I need to see her? She said she wasn't hurt, but I believe she was in shock."

"She was a little, Doctor," Ziva said, "But I persuaded her to rest and have a hot drink, and she calmed down. Then our other friends arrived, which helped. And now she is with Tim I believe she will be fine. I will keep an eye on her, though."

"That's more than I could hope for. Oh - could you tell me the name of your other injured agent? You'll have to forgive me; I'd only just come on duty when was brought in, I was told about the gunshot victim, but he'd been sent upstairs, and I haven't had time to look at any notes yet."

"He is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo; our team leader has gone to find him, apparently nobody could tell Marianne anything when she arrived with Tim. Can you tell us, please?" She gestured towards her three friends. "We are all somewhat anxious."

"I'll find out for you," he reassured her. "If it's possible before you go, I must say I'd love to hear the whole story… but this seems to be a lull… time's something we seldom have round here." He went over to the desk and sat down at a spare computer.

In cubicle two, Marianne had finally given in to the events of the evening. Tim was working through the effects of the sedative he'd been given when they stitched his arm; he'd surface from time to time, ask if she was OK, she'd kiss him lightly, he'd doze off again. After the third time, Mari's overshot nerves had had enough; she put her head down on the bed, alongside the hand she was holding, and tried to give way to tears silently.

She wasn't successful; it was only a few moments before she felt Tim's hand pull out of hers and rest on her hair instead. "Hey…" his voice was a lot stronger this time.

Mari looked up. "Sorry… I didn't mean to wake you up…"

Tim pushed himself up with his good hand. "Time you did. I'm neglecting you." He checked that the corner of the bed sheet was clean; it was pristine, and he used it to dry her tears. "C'me…" he held his arm out, and she sat on the edge of the bed and leaned into him. He wrapped his good arm round her, and gestured with his wounded one, in its sling. "You know what this means?"

"You got shot!" Her voice was still shaky, and she sniffed.

"Excellent perception, my most observant Dr. Weiss…"

"Stop making fun of me!" she muttered into his chest, and poked him in the ribs with a small fist. Her voice wasn't quite so shaky; it was a technique he'd seen DiNozzo use any number of times, and hey – it worked. He squeezed her shoulders, and rubbed his face in her hair. _I love you…_

"It means _time off_, Liebchen, that's what it means;" he kissed her ear. "You and me… watching the sunset over the sea… or picnicking in the mountains… It means you drive the Porsche when we go…I don't know, where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere with you, McRomantic. I love you."

"Mmm… ich liebe dich.."

"Ah, Tim…"

Ziva put her head round the curtain, and withdrew it just as quickly. She tiptoed back the way she'd come, although she didn't think they'd have heard her if she'd ridden a quadbike.

That was odd; she'd no sooner thought of one than she heard one. One of Tony's dinky - no, kinky - quinkydinks, that was it. Gibbs didn't believe in coincidences, and neither did she. It was a sports car, being driven far too fast for the grounds of a hospital.

She got back into the ER waiting area just in time to hear a new voice saying loudly, "Strewth, what's this? A Night at the Opera'? OK, Kaminski, you can go home now."

A smoothly dressed young man had swanned up to the desk where both the receptionist and the doctor Ziva had just been speaking to were working. The doctor, who'd already been developing a frown at what he was reading, stood up so quickly his chair shot back and hit the wall.

"Where the hell have you been, Rankin?"

"Hey, I'm late… My car broke down… I sent a text… what's the big deal? I'm here, you can go."

Dr. Kaminski glanced over to see two young Saturday night revellers escorting in a bleeding friend, and spoke quickly to a nurse. "Suzie – start with that young man please, I'll be there in a moment." He turned back to the newcomer. "So that wasn't your car, and your girlfriend I just saw careering away, then? I just _got_ here, Rankin. This is where I'm supposed to be. _You're _on surgical, and you should have been there half an hour ago. If you won't even read the duty rosters, what are you like reading patients' notes?"

The doctor was doing his best to keep his voice down, but Ziva and the others were listening as hard as they could. Wild horses wouldn't have stopped them.

"OK, OK, I'll get up there… what's the hurry?"

"No, you won't. Dr. Chow has arranged for Dr. Bryant and his senior nurse to, very kindly, I might add, cover all of that floor until the morning shift takes over. You're to stop here and wait for Dr. Chow."

"You're telling me what to do?" He stepped up belligerently. Ziva waited, but she didn't need to help. Dr. Kaminski was pretty mad.

"Oh, yes. Apparently a patient on surgical almost died through lack of supervision during the extra half hour you spent with your girlfriend." He grinned maliciously. "Dr. Chow wants a word."

"Dr. Chow?" The other doctor looked round rather wildly, saw not a friendly face among the listeners, and stormed out.

"Do you wish me to stop him?" Ziva asked, but Kaminski shook his head.

"Chicken on top of being a bloody bad doctor," he said flatly. They watched Rankin heading for the taxi stand.

Gill, Claire, Josh and Anne-Marie all stood up anxiously, and joined Ziva. They could see Dr. Kaminsky bracing himself. "Yes, it was Special Agent DiNozzo," he said, before they could ask. "He became very ill, but he's recovering now. Someone will be down to speak to you soon; I must go to my patient. I'm sorry."

For a moment, the four friends stood looking at each other, silenced by shock.

Josh stuttered finally, "The bullet wound must have been worse than we thought."

Claire said fiercely, "You didn't see what the SWAT team did to him, Josh." Gill looked at her in horror. "I _saw_, Mom. I was conscious after the flashbangs went off. You protected me from most of the explosion… so did the singers… they were nice…" Tears were running down her face. "I saw how they punched him, and kicked him…" Josh put his arms round her, and looked at Gill for an explanation. She sighed; she'd given her statement to Lieutenant Barraclough, and hadn't held back. She never wanted to have to repeat it ever again, but she kept her voice steady and told Josh what had happened up to the moment when Gibbs and Ziva arrived.

Ziva completed the story. "He was not fine, obviously, but he was conscious and able to tell Gibbs he must go after you, Josh. We knew he was right, so that was what we did; the paramedics were with him when we left." She paused. "We do what is right in our work, and things would have gone badly for you and Tim if we had not come to you… even so, leaving him was a very difficult thing to do, and I do not like having to wait like this."

Josh was surprised to hear her opening up so much; Ziva was surprised that she had done so. They all sat down again, and silence fell. Another reveller with a cut head came in, and Ziva was just about to take matters into her own hands and go and find room 220, when she heard familiar voices approaching.

* * *

"Where's Tony, Gibbs? We got here as quickly as we could… Ziva said he was shot but he was OK, and Tim was the same. Are they together? We thought they'd be in emergency, but we went in the main entrance and they didn't seem to know much at first, then they found Tony so we came up here, is Tim with him? Can we take them home? Ziva said everyone's safe, and you know how Tony hates hospitals and the longer Tim stays with him the more he'll get like him… Gibbs…?"

Abby trailed off anxiously; Ducky, admirable man, showed the greatest restraint he could muster, said nothing, and waited. Gibbs was silent for a moment, then guided them over to some seating at the junction of the two corridors. He wouldn't have admitted it if you'd taken his coffee away; but his legs felt weak.

"McGee's down in emergency," he began steadily. "Ziva's with him, and Marianne, and just about everyone else by now, I should think. He was doing fine last I heard…" He sighed. "But I could have said the same about Tony."

Ducky braced himself, Gibbs didn't often use first names in conversation, and he realised he'd been right to do so as Gibbs started to explain, and the whole catalogue of disaster unfolded.

"He's in good hands now," he finally said, "You'll have to meet Dr. Chow, she's something else, and he'll _be_ fine. But he wasn't, Ducky, he wasn't." He looked as grey as they'd ever seen him. Ducky nodded, understanding what his friend was thinking; this was the second time Gibbs had seen his surrogate son on the brink of death; he didn't know how he would have coped with it himself.

"I'd like to speak to this Dr. Chow, obviously," he said. "We'll wait until she's finished, and in the meantime…" he got up and went to the nearby vending machines.

Abby's eyes were like saucers. "You meant that, Gibbs, didn't you? He _is_ going to be alright?"

"Yes, Abbs, he is. I trust that doctor." He put his arms round her reassuringly, as Ducky brought back coffee and a power bar. The coffee was lukewarm, and Gibbs drained it in one. He was about to take a bite out of the bar, when there came low voices and the sound of the trundling of a bed from down at the end of the corridor. They looked, in time to see the bed, which they were pretty certain contained a sleeping NCIS agent, disappearing into a lift.

Gibbs shoved the power bar into his pocket. "Let's see if we can find Dr. Chow," he said, starting off down the short passage.

Ducky agreed. "She might not be able to talk to us yet, but we can wait; then at least she won't have to come looking for –"

Gibbs suddenly motioned them to stop, and put a finger to his lips. Diana Chow's voice came from the empty room that had been Tony's.

"…So I'm not blaming you for the call button being placed out of the patient's reach; but if you'd looked in on him it wouldn't have mattered. I'm also aware that if the supervising doctor had actually been here, you would have been told to check on every room, and every patient; it's procedure."

She paused and thought to herself that given the doctor concerned, that might not have been an accurate statement. "I'm trying to be as fair as I can to both of you; two inexperienced nurses should, ideally not have been put together on a shift, but the fact remains after all that, that if you're more interested in sitting chatting than looking after your patients, you shouldn't be in the job."

There was the sound of a loud sniff, but the doctor was merciless. "Well, we're going to find out. As Senior Physician; I could refer you to the disciplinary board. If that young man had died tonight; and but for his senior agent's intervention, he would have done, that's what I would do. Can you imagine how that man felt, finding someone he thinks of as a son in that condition? So…you'll both be under my personal supervision for the next three months; and I will ride you hard. If I don't see a total change in your attitude, I will take this further. Is that clear?"

There were two muted 'yes doctor's. "Then go about your duties for the rest of the shift. Properly." The two nurses fled from the room, while the NCIS posse tried to look as if they were just arriving, as Dr. Chow came from the room. "Ah," she said, with a rather thin smile. "Special Agent Gibbs; did you hear any of that?"

"Yes, Di." He used her first name, since she'd told him to, and because he felt guilty for listening. "Just Gibbs… I didn't mean to eavesdrop… found myself feeling that I had to."

"I wanted to put the fear of God into them… like I said, they're good girls… but they have to be good _nurses._" She smiled enquiringly at his two companions, and he introduced them.

"First things first, then," the doctor said for the second time that night. "Come with me." As they stepped into the elevator, she said, "Medication is bringing Tony's temperature down, and he's now on a specific antibiotic, and painkillers for when he wakes, which won't be too long now. The wound is cleaned and treated, and I've strapped up two cracked ribs. You'll see a big change in him, I'm glad to say." They stepped out of the elevator, and she said apologetically, "Just one at a time for now, I'm afraid."

The rooms in the ICU had glass half walls, and Gibbs could see where Tony was. "Off you go then, Gibbs," Di said, and turned to Ducky as Gibbs went. "Now, Dr. Mallard, you'll want the specifics…"

Gibbs perched himself on a stool beside Tony's bed. The SFA wasn't wearing a gown, because of the temperature issue; both wounds had fresh dressings, and there was elastic strapping round his ribs, so he looked like a patchwork quilt. He looked cared for. He was turned slightly onto his left side, with soft padding placed under his right shoulder. As soon as Gibbs sat down, he opened his eyes lazily.

"Hi, Boss."

"So, DiNozzo… Dr. Di said you should be feelin' better."

"I do, Boss… that's the truth." He grinned, and gave a morphine-laced giggle. "I feel... like I'm floating in… marshmallow…"

"Just don't go eating your pillow, then."

Tony frowned as if hit by a sudden thought, and cautiously slid his right hand, the one that was unencumbered by a drip, below the sheet. After he'd firkled about for a moment, a blissful smile spread over his face, and he dozed off to sleep again.

Gibbs patted his arm, and left him to it. As he left the room, Abby, who'd had her nose against the glass, said, "Gibbs, what was he _doing? _And why was he smiling about it?"

Gibbs allowed himself a smile. "He just discovered he hasn't got a catheter."

Abby's face was a study.

**AN: Getting near the end, I think; just need to find Tim somewhere with a nice sunset. **


	13. Chapter 13

Graduation Celebration Confrontation

Chapter 13

Dr. Chow came down to ER with Gibbs and Ducky, leaving Abby to sit and watch her sleeping friend. "You let me know about Timmy, Gibbs."

"I'll ask Ziva to come up, so you can go and see him, then you can stop worrying about everyone, Abs." He hadn't forgotten that Ziva _wanted_ to see Tony, or that he'd asked about her. 'Bout time they sorted things, he thought, but he had no idea what to do about that. Could he do anything? Should he? Ah… probably not. As they got down to the Emergency Room waiting area, Gibbs registered that everyone was there but Mari; good, McGee wasn't alone, then.

"He's alright," he forestalled a riot as they were surrounded. "Or, at least, he's going to be." Ziva was utterly astonished at what he did next: he put his arm round the shoulders of the tiny Chinese doctor who stood beside him, and gave her a quick squeeze. "This is Dr. Chow. Di. She saved him." The doctor actually blushed prettily and looked pleased, and her tiredness seemed to drop away. "Di, can I ask you to explain what happened, while I go and see McGee?"

"Of course." Gibbs hurried off in the direction Ziva pointed, and Dr. Chow got them all to sit down again; that was better… she was, after all, the shortest person there. "Please," she began, "Don't form your opinion of this whole hospital or its standards of care from what happened to Tony. Only a very few people fell down, however badly, on what was expected of them."

She took a deep breath. "When he was brought in, ER was very busy, according to the report of the incident. Tony was offered a general anaesthetic, for which he'd have had to wait, or a local, which he chose. Gibbs tells me he was very anxious about his friends, so he preferred to stay awake anyway. He was given a painkiller which was mildly sedative; and because the department was busy, the doctor handed his care over to the nursing staff as soon as he was finished with the bullet wound."

She looked round them all. "What happened next should _not_ have happened; but if other staff later on had been doing their jobs it wouldn't have mattered. By this time Tony had fallen asleep; from exhaustion or the sedative, or both… Ducky tells me he has a tendency to push himself to the limit and then collapse. In any case, either the doctor didn't tell them to check for other injuries, or they assumed he had. When they put him into the hospital gown, the injury on his back –"

"His back?" Ziva asked in surprise. "We did not know he had one."

"Neither did the ER staff, and he was not awake to tell them. If they saw it, it must at that time have simply looked like some scratches. It was an oversight; the sort we try to avoid, even in a very busy spell in ER; but if Tony's condition had been monitored it would have been discovered. The decision not to keep him in recovery, but to send him up to the ward was reasonable, given that ER was busy, but with hindsight… things would never have gone so wrong if he'd stayed down here. You see, with some infections, Septicaemia can take hold within a mere half hour…"

By the time Di had finished, Ziva's face was white. "I knew I should never have let that fool of a doctor leave," she said. "I must go to my partner." She left without another word.

Dr. Chow frowned. "Does she mean Dr. Rankin?"

It was Josh who explained, graphically describing the confrontation between Dr. Rankin and Dr. Kaminski, and Di swore softly. "Damn. I was looking forward to giving that man a long overdue bol- telling off," she corrected, in deference to young Claire, (who'd rather she'd said what she meant anyway). "Never mind, I'll get him later." She sounded disappointed. "When the board hears what happened, I'm certain he won't work here again."

* * *

Gibbs didn't wonder, he suspected he knew, why there was silence behind the curtain of Tim's cubicle, so he called out, "Should I whistle or something?"

There was a faint scuffling, and then Tim said, "Er, no, Boss… come in." Gibbs was unsurprised to find the two young people squashed up onto the bed that was only built for one, looking slightly pink. To Tim's credit, though, he didn't look embarrassed; he simply said, "Have you seen Tony, Boss?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Has he dug an escape tunnel yet? Boss?"

The look on Gibbs' face had brought him up short. "He's fine, Tim… tell you about that in a minute. How are _you?_ And you, Mari?"

"Tired," Tim said, "Both of us." Mari agreed. "But they say I can leave as soon as the drip's finished. That's all I need to know. Boss, what about Tony?"

They listened in complete silence while Gibbs told the story, and were silent even after he finished. "I need my clothes, Boss…" Tim finally said. "You'd never have found us in time but for him. I need to see him."

Gibbs didn't try to persuade him otherwise. Which was how, not long afterwards, after Dr. Kaminski had removed the IV canula, and wagged a finger – "They tell me you're the sensible one. So get in the wheelchair and stop complaining." – and dressed in evening trousers and shoes, and Gibbs' NCIS jacket, with Mari still in her ruined evening gown pushing, McGee arrived in ICU.

"Timmeee…" Abby launched herself, then braked hard. "Oh… Tim, I want to hug you but perhaps I'd better not cos you're still a bit pale and I don't want to damage you, but maybe a little one?"

"I'm sure I could manage a little one, Abby." As the forensic scientist bent to administer a squug, over her shoulder Tim could see Tony watching, and even from this distance, he could see that the SFA's eyes were dancing.

A lot of unspoken communication went on; Ziva got up and came out of the room so that Tim and Marianne could go in; it was the ICU after all, and she was aware of the entire team's tendency to simply take over hospital rooms. Tim stood up, and it wasn't simply because the room was a bit small for a wheelchair.

Tony was too weak to sit up, but he still stretched a hand out in greeting; Tim took it, and he and Mari perched side by side on the one stool. "Hey… Ziva told me what you got up to… you did good, McBond."

"McBond… hmm, yes… I could live with that one. You did good yourself, Tony. When I saw you looking round that door frame… I knew we were going to make it… I owe you."

"You what? We do it all the time, Tim. We don't keep a record of who owes who. Or is it whom…"

"No, but…"

"Tell you what, OK, you owe me. So be happy with your lovely lady… and we'll call it quits."

Mari giggled at the compliment. "But Tony, I owe you for helping me to meet Tim…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Enough already…" he went instantly back to sleep.

When they got back to ER, they found the others waiting, getting ready to leave; back to the hotels or in Ducky and Abby's case, back to DC. "And I shall go home to my girls and explain why Mom's late yet again," Di Chow said, but she was smiling nevertheless.

Gibbs kissed her forehead. "A pleasure to meet you, Doc.," he said, and she went off with that soft smile on her face. Ziva simply stated that she was staying with her partner, and nobody argued. She disappeared back to ICU. While they were sorting out the logistics, an ambulance rolled to a halt outside, and Dr. Kaminski came out to meet his next clients. He stared.

"Don't let Di leave!" he said urgently. "Get her back!" One of his nurses saw where he was looking, gave a huge grin and ran after Di.

A pretty blonde girl was sitting up on a gurney as an EMT wheeled it in, clutching her arm to her chest and screaming blue murder. "You stupid pratt! I warned you! My arm's killing me… it's all your fault… you should have let me drive…"

"Why? I've only had two beers, I'm not drunk, and it's _my car_, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yes, well, you're not fit to drive it… what's left of it…ow… my arm…"

"Will you quit yelling? My head's hurt! You're making it ache."

Dr. Kaminski looked at the female half of the argument, and said, "Just calm down, Miss, and we'll sort your arm out. Cubicle one, Suzie, please." To the male half of the argument, sitting in the wheelchair pushed by the other EMT and sporting a black eye and a cut forehead, he said wolfishly, "_Dr. Rankin…"_

Rankin moaned. "Oh, that's right. Beat on an injured man…"

"Beat on you? This is a hospital, Dr. Rankin," a voice said from behind him, and the NCIS colleagues and their friends watched, entranced, as Rankin cringed. Di Chow stepped into his line of vision.

"Dr. Kaminski is here to help you, as you well know. But unfortunately, he's the only doctor on duty here; he has to take your girlfriend –"

"I'm not his girlfriend any more!" the young woman raged over her shoulder as she was wheeled away.

"He has to take the young lady to x-ray, and then treat her arm; so he'll put you in a cubicle to wait for treatment. There's no time to give you a painkiller, and nobody that can be spared to keep you company, so you'll have to wait by yourself for… I don't know… it'll take him at least _half an hour_…"

"But can't you treat me?" Rankin asked unwisely.

"Well, no… I'm on my way home to my family, several hours late, I'm putting them first. Half an hour, Dr. Rankin… and you know what can happen in half an hour… unattended, neglected patients can almost die." She began to turn away.

"You wouldn't do that!" Rankin squealed, and she spun back towards him.

"No, _we_ wouldn't, you damn fool. We wouldn't because we're doctors who appreciate that our job is to put the patient first. 'First do no harm'… remember?" She waved an arm at Gibbs and the others. "These people are the friends… yes, all of them, the friends of the man who nearly died tonight thanks to your selfishness. You'll want me to protect you from them, won't you."

Rankin tried to jump out of the wheelchair, and the Senior Physician/little powerhouse pushed him down again. He looked at Gibbs like a rabbit in the headlights, and swallowed.

It was fascinating, Ducky observed later; how a single idea communicates itself wordlessly, and so rapidly. The watchers all stood silently, staring balefully at the man who was almost responsible for the death of Tony DiNozzo. None of them spoke, but as Gibbs took a tiny step forward, they all did. Rankin gave a squawk of fright.

"Come along," Di said sweetly, "And while I'm treating your injuries, I'll outline disciplinary board procedings to you…" She grinned over her shoulder at them, and was gone.

In ICU Ziva knew nothing of this, and when Gibbs told her later, she said wistfully that she wished she could have seen it; but she'd been where she needed to be. And so she was… Gibbs had to liaise with Lt. Barraclough, and look after the others, but Tony wasn't going to be left alone again. Irrational, she thought, he was being more than well looked after, and would soon be his old self…

Was she pleased about that? Did she want the wide-eyed, bogus innocent irritation that was DiNozzo, back again? She sighed very softly. Without a doubt, yes. Something about him lying there silent… Tony, silent… it was so fundamentally wrong she couldn't bear to look at him for a moment. She clasped his hand in hers, and closed her eyes. Almost immediately, his voice whispered, "Penny for your thoughts?"

She opened her eyes and looked into his sleepy green ones, and said, "Ah, you have broken them, Tony. I was thinking how unusual it is to have you quiet."

"Ah, well, that won't be for long… I reckon by morning I'll be able to sit up, and _eat breakfast_… and walk to the head, and not have to pee in a bottle any more… and then tomorrow night, you could drive me back to DC…if you're still around…?

"I think your timetable is optimistic, Tony. But I will wait, and I will drive you back to Washington; when the time comes. I was thinking that I do not enjoy your silence… but if you want to achieve your timetable, then it is necessary that you rest. Go back to sleep now, and in the morning maybe we will be able to eat breakfast together."

"Oh… I'd always imagined doing that in different circumstances, Zi-vah…"

Wild horses wouldn't have made her say 'me too'. "Go to sleep." She began to pull the sheet around him, and for a moment he looked alarmed.

"What –"

"I am tucking you in, Tony."

"Oh. You don't want to touch the sheet," he whispered, so softly that she had to bend closer to hear him.

"Why not?"

"Oh," he said conspiratorially, "You might be overwhelmed… underneath this sheet… in all my glory… I'm naked as a ball bearing… you… might…" He slept.

* * *

The west coast of Scotland; on the Road to the Isles… two people sat on the beach, on the famous White Sands of Morar, the remains of a picnic beside them.

The sun was beginning to dip, and Tim poured more wine.

"Ducky was right," Marianne said, "This is a beautiful place."

"Perfect."

"Like us," she giggled, taking another sip of wine.

"Things are perfect…" Tim said carefully. "I don't want to spoil perfection…" She looked at him encouragingly. "This isn't a proposal unless you want it to be… in which case it is… I know you and me being together permanently would involve lots of changes. I just need you to know that it's what I want, in the end. When you're ready."

Mari nodded. "You're right. It would mean huge changes. If we do them a little at a time, they won't seem so big. I'm thinking that if I can work in the USA permanently, that's one change made already. Let me see if I can fix that, and then ask me again. In principle, the answer's yes. I love you, Tim."

"I love you, Mari." He leaned in and kissed her, and they watched the sunset for a while. "I got a text from Tony," he said after a while. "He's back in DC. Says he never wants to see Princeton again."

"Tell him not to diss Princeton," Mari said, ducking into the crook of his arm. "It's where we met, thanks to him."

"We owe him."

"He says we don't." She raised her glass. "But here's to Tony anyway."

Tim raised his, and they clinked. "To Tony."

**AN: Done! I know I've stretched coincidence a little for Rankin's come-uppance, but I **_**like**_** poetic justice.**

**Thank you all the lovely people who've reviewed; I've never got to a hundred before, so I've got a little warm glow. But scribblers are never satisfied… more please?**


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